Men That Fly With Capes
by TheAllPowerfulOz
Summary: A side story to Fast Cars and Airplanes in Heaven involving Detective Desmond and Detective Shaun. Rated M for a reason. Deals with Rape.
1. Chapter 1

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**Chapter 1; Complex Feelings and Stuff **

Shaun thought maybe Desmond had fallen asleep he was so still. It was a strangely—perhaps even disgustingly— domestic thought and he shoved it aside as quickly as it popped into his head. He glanced back and forth from the younger man to the road a few times to make sure he wasn't too close to the sedan in front of them.

The windows were rolled down, the wind roaring and whistling in, almost completely drowning out the sound of the radio and the tires screaming on the road. It fluttered Desmond's hood and hair and shirt, the fabric rippling, his hair flipping back from his face.

Shaun wasn't sure how long they'd been driving, an hour, two—three? It didn't really matter to him. Desmond wasn't so bad to be around when he was acting suitably.

For the first while Desmond had been very quiet, tense just glaring out at the world with his arms crossed over his chest and his hood pulled low over his eyes defensively, like a small child might cover their head and face with their favorite blanket for protection. But after Shaun had forced conversation upon him the younger man had seemed to begrudgingly loosen his tongue and after that initial denial of his jealousy he'd let out little snippets of sentences. Pinched, abbreviated little scenes and anecdotes that seemed to weigh tons by themselves.

"It's just not fair," Desmond had started, his voice low and almost monotone.

"What's not fair?"

But Desmond had given his head a shake and sealed his lips, leaving Shaun to muse silently on what he'd been about to say.

Had he meant the situation? That Altair and Ezio were together? Or was it life in general? The fact that Desmond's girlfriend had broken up with him not so long ago and it was still painful to see two people in love?

Or had it been a generalization of the human experience?

Shaun didn't want to give Desmond that much of a philosophical sense so he chose the option about the other young man's girlfriend and mentally kicked himself because that had been his fault.

Desmond sucked his teeth for a while, working his tongue around at their backs and letting out a deep low sigh, picking up another conversation; "I grew up around him… I just—It's hard to see…" His voice trailed off for a moment and he started again; "He is like a big brother, OK? And Ezio… I just— I—I don't know how to feel."

Shaun bit off the; _'with your hands hopefully'_ comment he'd been a hair's breadth away from making. But then Desmond said something Shaun hadn't expected him to.

"Altair made my dad love me… even if it was only for a little while, the fact that he'd found me and brought me home made my dad love me and I… I loved him for it. I wanted to be just like him. He gave me everything I'd resented Ezio for so much as a kid." He covered his mouth with one hand and turned to stare away over traffic toward the south. "And no matter what happened afterward, for that little while when he brought me back I had the best dad on the planet… A-and I was so happy."

But when he turned to look at Shaun the Brit saw only unbearable sadness in his eyes and the smile on his face. And it seemed the instant Desmond realized the nostalgic joy wasn't in his eyes he turned away again and pulled his hood over his face again.

Desmond made a scoffing noise in his throat; "Jesus, listen to me… 'm like a fuckin' woman or something." He rubbed his face with his sleeves and slouched lower in his seat.

Shaun went with it. "Should I stop and buy some Kotex?"

Desmond rolled his eyes, head flopping to the left on his shoulder and his nose wrinkled up in sarcastic amusement; "Aw, fuck you too… ya' nasty ginger bastard."

They drove for a while longer in silence. He radio droning out the news, more details about the hurricane, some senator planning to run for president, all of it meaningless because they weren't paying attention.

Around four that evening Shaun pulled off the interstate at a truck stop and filled up his tank, Desmond smirked at him through the windows and mocked his accent; 'Don't have enough fuel to get home now… almost four dollars a gallon, are they mad?'

Shaun rolled his eyes and gave a hand at mocking Desmond's; 'I'm so hungry I could eat a whole fuckin' cow!'

Desmond's brows lifted in amusement; "Not bad, not bad… You made me sound like John Wayne!"

Shaun rolled his eyes; "You, my dear little bastard, are no John Wayne."

"Oh, and I suppose you are?"

"Of course not…"

"Oh, you're James Bond then?"

Shaun grinned, showing too many teeth; "No, I'm not quite so keen on blowing people up and shooting… Turns my stomach see."

Desmond snorted and propped his feet on the dash; "You're a pacifist masquerading as an anarchist pretending to be a cynic."

"Oh, I'm anything but a pacifist."

"Really?"

"I'm quite confrontational, just don't enjoy the idea of killing people." He shrugged; "Though I'd do it if I had no other option."

"Yet you're a vegan?"

"VEGETARIAN… get it right." He pulled out his wallet and fished around for his credit card. "And I wasn't always a vegetarian… It's a recent compulsion."

Desmond chuckled and crossed his arms on the door, staring Shaun down as if he intended to eat him; "You're full of shit."

Shaun's brows rose and he shook his head; "Went to the hospital for some blood tests, among other things, my cholesterol was through the roof."

Desmond snorted, "You were fat, weren't you!"

Shaun rolled his eyes and tried to ignore him; "I went on a vegetarian diet for six months, my numbers went back down—Decided to have a plate of sausage for breakfast the next morning and became so incredibly ill I haven't touched meat since."

"Did you not cook it right? That happened to me a few times. I got the shits so bad I—"

"Thank you for that_—vivid_ mental image, Desmond… Really. I needed that." He swatted the younger man's head out of his window and tugged the door open, climbing back behind the wheel.

Desmond slithered back into his own seat, and seemed to get the message when Shaun glared at where his feet were still propped on the dash.

Tennis shoes properly on the floor again, Shaun started the engine and pulled the car to the other side of the building, intent on making the diner employees rue the; _'Breakfast served 24/7. All you can eat plates $5.99' _sign in the window.

Desmond feigned indifference as Shaun politely left him in the car, knowing intrinsically that parking there in front of the sign was likely the only form of invitation he'd get, but still, for some reason, wanting to be obstinate, just to get one over on the older man.

Shaun though, just looked back over his shoulder with an almost bored expression on his face as he pulled the door open, and disappeared inside without a word.

A few minutes later, after failing to stare a hole through the side of Shaun's head where the jerk had planted himself in a booth directly in front of the car and was stirring cream into his tea, Desmond climbed out of the car, gave the door a harsh slam and grinned inwardly when the redhead glared hatefully at him for the abuse to his car.

Shaun continued to glare at the brunette as he shuffled into the restaurant and dropped like a bag of rocks into the booth across from him, long legs sprawled so his shins trapped Shaun's under the table. And although he wanted to, Shaun didn't say anything about the fact that, effectively he was between Desmond's legs, and if he'd wanted to proposition someone this was probably the tackiest way to go about doing so.

When the server came back over Desmond grumbled and ordered something to eat, scrolling his finger down the menu printed on the tabletop. A few seconds later the woman brought over a cup of coffee and a few of those little tubs of half and half.

Shaun scrutinized him as he drank it, how his left hand was still shoved into the front pocket of his jacket, and his right, when it wasn't lifting the mug to and from his lips, tapped out a hectic beat on the tabletop.

Even when Desmond was sitting still he was in constant motion.

"Do you feel like talking about the case yet?" Shaun gave his own mug a quarter turn to the left.

Desmond sighed, stared out the window to the north but didn't act as though he'd heard Shaun speak.

"If it's going to be as complicated as I believe it will be, we need a plan of action. We need to coordinate our efforts to ensure everything—"

"You talk too much."

Shaun blanched, then felt the heat rise further when he realized he was blushing. His defenses rose like a tidal wave and he had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something back. The last thing he needed was to get into an all out fight with Desmond in the middle of a diner. And he was defensive enough, and Desmond upset enough that that was a real possibility.

He didn't want Desmond thinking he'd won, didn't want himself thinking that he'd lost control of the situation, so he just sat there, growing redder and redder by the second, hands curled into fists fighting with himself over what to say or if he should just stay quiet.

Desmond didn't seem to notice, just let out a deep, put upon sigh and tilted his jaw into his palm. "I'm scared of this case, Shaun. Altair knows I'm affected by it just as much as Ezio, but he's arrogant. He likes playing hero, even if he swears up one side and down the other that he doesn't… He just wants to prove to himself and to Ezio that he can protect him." Another sigh, glancing off at the vanity plate on the front of Shaun's car. "He's in love and he's stupid and he's ignoring the danger in this."

"He's trying to keep his private life and his profe—"

"Well, he's not doing a very good job of it…"

Shaun was quiet, just looking at Desmond, as if seeing a side of him for the first time. He was right, after all, and Shaun knew it deep down. He'd just been too caught up in it himself to notice. He'd let his heart get in the way of his mind, and that could have been deadly. "So, what do you propose we do?"

Desmond was quiet for a while, tapping his cheekbone with his fingertips, and his left hand slid slowly out of his pocket, a wrinkled slip of paper pinched between his fingers. He stared at it for a few seconds then flattened it out on the tabletop, staring down at the phone number and address and the scant lines of description Altair had jotted down while talking to Mickey.

"We gather up as many leads as possible… Then eliminate those we can."

"So, we just follow procedure? We just do it even though we both know you're emotionally involved in it?"

He inhaled deeply and held it. "We have to…"

Shaun leaned back in his seat, a little stunned, and didn't even look away from the younger man when the server came back and put down plates in front of them.

Desmond smiled at her flirtatiously but it didn't reach his eyes and made quiet small talk for a few seconds, then the smile faded as if simply wiped clean off his face the second her back was turned.

And Shaun just continued to stare at him until Desmond shoved some pancake into his mouth, syrup dripping onto his chin, and he motioned with his fork to Shaun's plate.

"Grilled cheese, potatoes and gravy…"

Shaun blinked, his train of thought thoroughly derailed, and looked down at his plate. He snorted, even as a strange sense of warmth filled his chest; "What? No fruit salad?"

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	2. Chapter 2

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**Chapter 2; Low Places**

Desmond knew where Shaun lived. Not because he'd ever really cared, but because it was just one of the many things he knew.

But, knowing, and realizing were two different things.

Shaun lived in a cheaper apartment building not quite in down town, but again, not quite_ not_ in down town. It was a strange middle ground within walking distance of the university, and if you stood on the top of the building, in the western most corner, craned your neck out and stood on your toes you could see the bar where Desmond worked during the summer.

It was… Desmond wanted to call it weird, but knew it really wasn't, half the college students in Chicago lived in this neither here nor there area of the city. The other half usually lived on campus or with their parents.

It was dark by the time they made it back into the city, and the rain was pissing down. The forecast said rain was likely for the next week.

Shaun was yawning and squinting through his windshield wipers as he parallel parked at the side of the building and turned off the engine. "My sister's away at school, so we can work in peace." He shoved open his door and darted out slamming it behind him. Desmond followed, at a slower pace.

The third floor was easily accessible by the stairs, but Shaun stopped in front of the elevator, prodding the 'up' button a few times with more force than was necessary. Talking in a low voice with his hands curled, keys jingling in his right fist. "You'll have to tell me everything that's pertains to the case… We'll make a list of what we know, and likely suspects. Do you have any connections in the police department?"

"Just Altair's brother… He's as helpful as he can be… most of the time." Desmond leaned his shoulder against the wall.

"Right, we'll give him a call. I can do a few searches… 'got a few contacts of my own." He wiped water out of his face and ducked into the elevator as the door pinged open. "You're not allergic to ferrets, are you?"

"No."

"Damn…" He slouched and when the door opened he slid out and stalked down the hall, stabbing his key into the last door on the left and shoving it open.

Shaun's apartment was not small, but it wasn't large either. And some small furry something was making a racket in a towel covered cage in the corner. Every so often a bit of the towel would be yanked back between the bars and wrenched on savagely.

Desmond felt kind of sorry for the poor thing and while Shaun was talking about different search methods, he slipped over into the corner and peeked under the towel. But when his fingers slid into the cage in an attempt to pet the fuzzy little pale creature in there—

Shaun heard an almost effeminate shriek and turned quickly to see Desmond sitting in the floor clutching his hand to his chest, squeezing the bleeding end of his index finger and staring in absolute horror at Snowman.

"You idiot… his cage is covered for a reason. Do you always go poking your fingers into things you shouldn't?" He shook his head and grabbed a washcloth out of the kitchen drawer, throwing it at the brunette as if he wished to bludgeon him to death with it.

Desmond stared up at him with wide eyes. "It _bit_ me!"

"Of course, it bit you. Nasty little bugger has very sharp teeth and a thirst for human blood!"

"Why the hell do you have the damned thing then!"

"It's my sister's… She calls here every day wanting to talk to the little weasel then cries and whines because she can't have him at school… I'd have gladly packed him off to her by now if it had been allowed."

Snowman was making eerie grunting squeaking squealing noises again and running back and forth and back and forth and back and forth in his cage.

Desmond's expression resembled a very pissed off cat and when Shaun crouched beside him to cover Snowman's cage again he thrust his bleeding hand toward the Brit as if it were his fault and duty to rectify this wrong.

Shaun scowled at him and turned away. It was, after all, Desmond's own damned fault he'd been bitten. "Might want to go rinse it off before it gets infected and you lose your hand."

Desmond's cheeks puffed out incredulously and he climbed to his feet, stomping toward the kitchen grumbling under his breath.

Shaun watched him go, then carefully, peeked under the towel at Snowman. "You know," he said to the furry little lump shifting unhappily back and forth in the cage; "You're not so bad after all, for a smelly, bite-y, furry little devil."

"I heard that you shit head!" Desmond shouted from the kitchen.

Shaun lowered his voice; "See if you can bite him in the throat next time… White rabbits learned it decades ago."

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Desmond's finger did, eventually, stop bleeding. He was surprised he hadn't passed out from blood loss, but he supposed his constitution was stronger than that. And when he came out of the kitchen, paper towels wadded around his wound, Shaun was sitting cross legged at a small coffee table on what Desmond had at first thought was a beanbag chair, but what turned out, when he got close enough to see it, was one of those gamer's chairs he'd seen at a few stores, plush thing with speakers and cup holders built in.

More than that, Shaun had a petite wireless keyboard balanced on his knees and was staring at his TV with a somewhat dull, but focused look on his face.

Desmond thought he looked like one of those kids boredly navigating an educational computer program. His eyes squinted, nose wrinkled, lips parted as if he were letting out a perpetual silent groan of misery.

Desmond knew this face well, because he'd made it throughout most of his school career. But where as he had been absolutely tortured by school from the second grade to the fifth when he'd transferred out of public school, Shaun looked intent on something. Shaun looked as if he were impatient that the program was taking so long.

"What're you doin'?"

"Working."

"On what?"

"My tan… What do you think I'm working on."

Desmond plopped down beside him, keeping his injured hand elevated, and watched as Shaun worked. "You've got a sixty inch LCD as your computer screen?"

"No, I have three twenty-inch LCD's as my computer screen… This is connected via Cloud to my had drive, thankfully. Because I'd have to murder you in a most inhuman way if you sat foot in my bedroom."

"So you've got a sixty inch LCD as your computer screen."

Shaun sighed deeply and tried to push away his indignation like a bulldozer moving rocks. It was no easy task. "Why don't you start by telling me everything you know that pertains to the case."

Desmond pouted as he thought, lower lip poked out, eyes narrowed in thought; "Do you really want to hear all of it? Or just the non-graphic parts."

"If it's pertinent, then I need to know. No matter how graphic."

Desmond stared at him for a little while, his eyes kind of glazed over as he questioned everything. If he told Shaun EVERYTHING, would the Brit see him differently? If he told him everything he knew, and had been through, would Shaun be disgusted? Would he think Desmond was weak? Would he laugh?

"Take your time then. I've got work in the morning and plans tomorrow afternoon that will take all my concentration and energy, but don't worry. I can afford to sit up with you all night staring blankly into space." Shaun narrowed his eyes threateningly.

Desmond swallowed past a dry feeling in his throat and opened his mouth. "You read the other file, right? T-the one about the kidnapping?"

"I skimmed over it, yes." His voice had settled into something low, calm and detached.

"Well, those guys that had us were part of this… this group thing—"

"'Group thing'? Is that a technical term?"

"—There were four of them, plus Rodrigo's son. They had code names, pet names for one another and the men they did business with. I don't know a lot about them, only what I learned while they had us chained up in that storage locker, but they w-would take kids and d-do awful things to them—" He swallowed with some difficulty and let his breath out in a long hiss; "Rodrigo's son had been in Mr. Auditore's bank a few times before we were taken. I remember that because my dad took me to work with him every evening and made me sit in the lobby until he was finished… I'd never stay in the lobby, most usually Mr. Mario would see me and let me watch cartoons in the conference room since Ezio was only there for me to play with on weekends… Rodrigo's son came into the bank a few times and used the ATM, only he never really used the ATM, he-he'd watch me… And when Ezio was there, he'd watch us." He swallowed again, feeling nauseous as he spoke, watching as Shaun quickly, and precisely typed it all into a Word Document, not even so much as slowing even as it became more and more difficult for Desmond to speak.

"These guys, Shaun, what I was able to figure out from reading the case file myself a few years ago, fought together in Vietnam. Rodrigo was a medic and he was really chummy, most of the time, with this big head honcho guy. They argued a lot though, argued about money and God… Rodrigo was in it all for the money, but the other guy… the one I never saw, he was on some kind of trip or something. Had this whole manifesto written up, they found a copy in Rodrigo's house—Really twisted shit…" He pressed the heel of his hands to his eyebrows and let out a little chuckle that was by no means amused. "Fuck… If I'm really gonna tell you this I need a drink."

"There are beers in the fridge."

"I need something stronger than beer."

"Will being drunk, honestly make this any easier to tell? Or will you just end up sobbing like a two-year-old over soiled nappies?"

"Fuck you." He was already climbing to his feet, shuffling into the kitchen with one hand to his head.

Shaun watched him, somewhat irritated that the progress had stopped, but knowing that as soon as Desmond had drowned a few of his scant remaining brain cells, he'd be a tad bit more cooperative. He turned back to his keyboard; "There's three quarters a bottle of vodka in the deep freeze."

He tried to ignore the sound of Desmond rattling about in the kitchen and instead opened a second word file and began typing quickly in Beagle, notes on his growing suspicions and ideas on the case, as well as vehement complaints that it was glaringly obvious Desmond was emotionally compromised, and Altair had absolutely no business giving this case to them.

And then there was a glass on a coaster to his right and Desmond was lowering himself back into the floor with one of his own.

Shaun blinked down his nose at the concoction. Something orange with swirls of green that looked absolutely nothing like vodka.

"What's this?" He prodded it with one curled knuckle.

Desmond took a long, slow drink and let his breath out in a hiss. "I call it a Sonic Screwdriver."

"Sonic Screwdriver."

"Well, one of its different variations… You didn't have any blueberries."

"And you learned this where?"

"I'm a bartender at night, Shaun. If you want it, I can make it."

"I'm not much for mixed drinks…" He pushed the cup away, but continued to stare at the drink in Desmond's hands, how the younger man's fingers left slick spots on the condensation on the glass, how his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, the glazed look in his eyes as he stared at the TV-turned-computer screen… The wedge of something tan and plastic he could see through the younger man's hair as it curved into his ear. "What's in this thing then?" He picked up his own drink and tilted it toward his lips, setting his keyboard aside.

"Thing?'" Desmond snorted; "Call it what it is, man… Don't insult me." He didn't sound so very convicted, just bored and a little tired. "Classic screwdriver… orange juice and vodka… Sonic Screwdriver, add frozen lime juice and pureed blueberries…" He took another drink; "Another variation you kick the blueberries out and use a few cherries." A smirk; "Layer it in a tall glass with a mojito and a strawberry daiquiri and I call _that_ The Good Captain."

Shaun snorted a little in amusement; "Wanker."

"Two fingers of rum, twist of lime, and two cherries on the rocks."

He had to bite back a grin so he didn't choke; "Fuck off and see what other garbage you can come up with."

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	3. Chapter 3

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**Chapter 3; You Can't Lie to Family**

Shaun had good alcohol tolerance. Very good alcohol tolerance… No, Shaun had SPECTACULAR alcohol tolerance. He drank every one of the sticky, sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, strange looking things Desmond brought him, and other than a light flush filling his cheeks, and a slight glaze to his eyes beneath his lenses, Shaun didn't look drunk at all.

Desmond, on the other hand, despite the fact he boasted having very good alcohol tolerance himself, hadn't really had anything to drink aside from the fateful night of his birthday, in almost six months. By the time he'd tipped the last of Shaun's vodka into a pair of glasses, he could barely see straight, forget actually being able to knowledgeably mix a cocktail. He didn't show it though. No way, no SIR!

Nuh-uh!

He sat the glasses down on the table before he tried to catch the floor long enough to sit. It was a delicate procedure. You had to aim yourself correctly, like trying to sit on a pincushion attached to a broom handle. Too far to the left and you toppled off, too far to the right and it may just go up your ass, and then where would you be? A human kebob.

Goddamn, he was hungry.

"Where was I?" He finally managed to relocate himself to the floor, leaning his shoulder against Shaun's to keep the other man tethered to the ground as well. Last thing he needed was Shaun rocking away on that freaky… stupid damned chair of his.

"You left off when the bald bastard was tattooing your thigh…" Shaun found himself staring at the spot through Desmond's jeans, mesmerized.

Desmond grunted and lifted his glass, searching for the rim with the end of his nose before he tilted it toward his mouth. "'He kept laughin' while he was doin' it… blowin' kisses at me." He flinched, as if something had shot across his field of vision, like a fly ball or a bird or something equally startling.

"You alright?"

For a few moments Desmond was utterly still and silent, his eyes dim and unseeing, "He liked it when I screamed… I mean LIKED it."

Shaun nodded and made a note.

"Ezio didn't scream though… Wouldn't. Th-the guy tried to get him to," He took a drink; "He scratched and threatened but Ezio didn't make a sound… That got the fat man interested a-and he came over to watch. He thought it was funny or something, and after a while said something to the bald bastard and he stuck a few fingers into him… I think that's when we realized they weren't going to just kill us, because this look came over Ezio's face, angry and scared… like this cat I tried to take home once." Another drink and he took a moment to just stare at the words on Shaun's screen; "It was little, bright orange, and I chased it all the way from school into this alleyway and picked it up. Jesus it was pissed off… it climbed up my arms and wrapped around my head, scratching and biting and shit, but I wouldn't let it go because I was convinced it would calm down if it only knew I just wanted to take it home and love it… But I remember the look in its eyes. All fear and hate and it… it just scared me so bad to see that in Ezio's face, because Ezio was always so calm and he never got scared… It had to be really bad if he was scared too."

Shaun had stopped typing and was swirling the sorry excuse for a cocktail in his glass, just looking at Desmond from the corner of his eye. He was opening his mouth to make a comment. How utterly and completely gay that stupid cat story had been, and that Desmond was… Desmond had slumped against his shoulder and when he turned to stare down at the younger man he was amused to see the little tyke had passed out.

"Ha," He said, grinning broadly; "I win…"

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Eli liked to walk, she liked riding her skateboard even more… Even more so when Petruccio was going along behind her on his bicycle, weaving his way through the bustle of people as effortlessly as the breeze.

Laundry had become an imperative. Washing her underpants out in the sink with a bit of shampoo and draping them over the radiator was out of the question any longer. She absolutely LONGED to have clean jeans, and there just wasn't enough shampoo in the world to get them clean.

It had been a carefully orchestrated and executed plan to bring them to this. Two days from the weekend and their first 'sleepover' as Petruccio had called it. Those sheets they'd bought were already on the second bed in her dorm and she had a frantic five hours of cleaning to do tomorrow evening after class to prepare the space for his arrival… Among other things.

She'd visited him once already at his university, going over after her last class on Wednesday and they'd watched a movie in the Student Center with a few other kids they didn't know.

She was already planning how to give him a reputation by taking him back to his room and kicking the wall for a while, meditating on that famous Diner scene from When Harry Met Sally. What fun!

But it hadn't turned out that way… They'd watched the movie and taken the bus back to her dorm where he'd walked her to the door, whispered some Italian seductively into her ear and left her standing there blushing like a fool while the other girls on her floor giggled behind their hands.

And Eli would have none of that! She was not a romantic person. No WAY! She was loud, obnoxious, opinionated, belched like a sailor and drank beers with her older brother and his mates! She was not the kind of girl who giggled and blushed and succumbed to… to WOOING!

No man, Petruccio or not, was going to **WOO** her. She was in control thank you very much! She would do the wooing! She would duct tape him to a chair and make him scream like a little girl in her own good time! She had the supplies in that box under her bed to prove it!

A box she planned on collecting as soon as they reached her apartment.

Petruccio chained his bike to the banister outside and moved it out of the way of pedestrian traffic, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, the second backpack containing Eli's accumulation of dirty laundry on his back. "So, you'll honestly help me with my laundry when I go home to do it?"

"Yeah," She said, grinning over her shoulder as she tucked her board under her arm. "I'll get to rifle through your underpants, of course I'll help!" She rolled her eyes back into her head and held up her hands to her face, inhaling deeply and making a rather perverted noise.

Petruccio turned red as strawberries. "You're weird."

She bowed and unlocked the door holding it open for him.

They took the stairs, trying to be quiet so they could sneak up on Shaun.

"We've got this THING in a few days, and I really want to see if I can catch him practicing… Got to get a drop on the competition." She rubbed her hands together evilly.

"Do I really want to know?"

She shrugged over her shoulder at him; "You can come and watch if you want, just bring a pair of earplugs, the music gets very loud and you've got those sensitive ears, remember?" She tugged on one for emphasis.

He shrugged her off and gave his head a shake. "How are we going to explain to him that you spent all your laundry money on pizza and beers?"

"He'll be able to tell just looking at me. He's got a peculiar gift for being able to spot things."

Eli held a finger to her lips as they approached and silently slid her key into the lock. She was upset at first, because Shaun wasn't moving to the music, even more upset when she didn't even see him sitting on that little chair of his in his underpants playing God only knew which in a series of Online Games he'd found himself addicted to… But she was positively delighted in what she did find.

Shaun was sprawled on his back in the floor, his head propped on the seat of his chair, and there was a young man on top of him, settled perfectly into place between her brother's legs.

Oh, Joy! Oh, Exaltation! Oh, Jumping-Jesus-on-a-Pogo-Stick! Shaun had finally taken her advice and had himself a good buggering!

Petruccio was blinking wide eyed from over her shoulder and she turned and flattened both hands over his mouth, glaring in a way that he instantly knew he was meant to be absolutely quiet.

Eli crept forward, eyeing the sticky glasses on the coffee table. She lifted one, sniffing it, eyes watering because the liquid that remained in it was almost entirely vodka, and she might enjoy a drink now and then, but Vodka was not her poison of choice. She'd gotten into that bottle once, and worshiped the porcelain god all the next day… Never again. She glanced over her shoulder at Petruccio and gave the glass a little swirl questioningly.

He shrugged and took it, tipping it toward his nose and taking a few tentative sniffs. He almost sneezed and handed it back without tasting.

She put it back exactly where she'd gotten it and crept to her bedroom, sliding the box from under her bed and into her satchel. She paused long enough to fetch Snowman out of his cage before he woke up and started making a racket, collected said cage for cleaning, and whisked herself, Snowman and Petruccio out the door, shutting it with a click.

Desmond pried one eye open and peered out miserably, "Your sister was here…"

Shaun made a quiet squeaking grunt of a noise but didn't move otherwise. "Care to explain why you're on me?"

"Just be glad we're both still fully clothed… Cause if one of us was naked I'd have to kill you."

"Not if I killed you first." He squeezed Desmond as tightly as he could, feeling somehow pleased with himself when the younger man wheezed in pain.

Desmond growled, but the sound turned into a whimper when his head rang like a bell. "I hate you." He thudded his fist weakly against Shaun's shoulder, whining when the motion sat his head to ringing.

Shaun's brain ached too much to retaliate. "'Hate you more."

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	4. Chapter 4

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**Chapter 4; Hesitance**

Shaun didn't see Desmond again for three days and when he did see him again he really wished he hadn't.

Shaun had just got out of the shower, still wet with a towel around his head and a robe tied hastily around his body because somebody was trying to break the fucking door down and of course Elisabeth was late and couldn't be assed to show up on time like she'd promised she would and be there to answer the fucking door like a civilized human being.

Shaun wrenched the door open and snarled; "What," low in his throat.

Desmond was grinning broadly looking like some TV personality behind sport sunglasses. He was wearing a bright green T-shirt and black jeans under an equally black hoodie that still had tags under the left arm.

Mechanically Shaun reached out and yanked the tags off without comment or even breaking eye contact. "What do you want?"

Desmond shoved rudely into the apartment, looking like some hip-hop thug behind those glasses and his hood drawn up, sleeves pushed to his elbows. "I'm doing legwork tonight down town. The guy who drove the van that picked Ezio and me up agreed to talk to me. I need backup."

"You're going to a prison to talk to—"

"No, he's been out for a few years now, plea bargain, good behavior all that shit," He snuffed and his lower lip pushed out further as if he were trying to act like he didn't care.

"Why do you need backup to talk to an ex-con?" Shaun shut the door and went toward his bedroom, shutting the door before Desmond could get in. He spoke loudly to be heard through the wall. "Is poor ickle Des-Des afwaid?"

"Fuck you."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you."

"Shaun, I'm warning you. Not today."

"Exactly, sorry mate, I've got a date, you'll have to go it alone."

"I—Shaun, man, please?"

"No."

"Aw, come on!" Desmond pounded his fist against the door. "Two hours, at the most."

"Not happening, now fuck off."

Desmond bristled and turned to leave when he got a rather nasty idea; "So, what's he like?"

"What?"

"Your boyfriend? That is who you're waiting for dressed up like that, isn't it? For your 'date'? What the fuck was that anyway, silk? You've got a silk robe?"

"I don't have a boyfriend, Des and even if I did it's none of your business, is it."

Desmond froze, blinked, froze again and finally rebooted; "Wait, what?" His nose wrinkled up severely. "Shaun… Shaun, are you gay? Like—like r-really actually gay?"

"I believe that is also none of your business."

Shaun's voice was so calm the reply seemed perfectly reasonable to Desmond and he took a step back scratching his head under his hood.

"Desmond?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you still here?"

"Oh… uh—I-I'll just… go then…" He turned shuffled toward the door, paused as if about to say something then did actually leave. He made it to the street before he realized that no, he really didn't want to go meet this guy without backup and his backup had somehow managed to convince him it was a good idea to leave alone.

"That bastard!" Desmond turned and was stomping back toward Shaun's apartment with his face contorted in anger when he noticed a tall thin young man in baggy black clothing, a knit jacket with a zipper, and a bright orange fedora shoved on his head jog lightly down the steps into the street.

Desmond froze mid step because, even though there were no glasses perched on that nose he would recognize Shaun anywhere… And what the holy FUCK was he wearing!

Desmond stripped off his sunglasses, gave the zip on his hoodie a hard yank upward… and began following him.

Date indeed… That was Shaun Hastings and he was wearing goddamned rave gear! Shaun did NOT wear rave gear. He had twenty different sweaters and cardigans, at least that many slacks in dull business like colors and a plethora of buttoning shirts that varied only in shades of white. Shaun did not wear t-shirts. Shaun did not wear sneakers unless he'd borrowed them from his sister and he sure as hell did not own anything as loud as the orange that hat had been.

Shaun didn't take the train, didn't hail a cab, didn't get on the bus, he walked… and somewhere when he was out of Desmond's sight around a corner he'd met up with someone else… Someone dressed almost identical to him save where his clothes had splashes of orange, this stranger's had splashes of electric green. Four blocks later Shaun ducked into a coffee shop with this person and emerged with three others in tow. One, a shorter heavyset young woman who was dressed in plaid, one who had rainbows on their clothing and the last all in blue. They talked and laughed loudly enough that when Desmond took off his right amplifier and turned it up he could hear them almost as if he were included in the conversation.

"So, are you going to tell us what you've been up to?" The plaid woman said.

Shaun snorted and took a quick sip of his coffee; "Why tell you and ruin the surprise? You're intolerably nosy. Do try to remember that tonight we are merely rivals, I'll have no pawing and sharing secrets from public enemy number one!"

"Aw, fuck you," The plaid woman gave him a lighthearted shove. "Public enemy number one my ass!"

"That's what she said!" The younger man in blue pants with black piping said, Desmond would call him The Smurf for identification purposes later.

"Do you know what the competition is like?" Electric Green said, twiddling his hat between his hands.

"As long as there aren't too many Jumpers we'll last the night without vomiting," Shaun said and glanced over his shoulder; "Hang on a tic…"

Desmond turned and jogged up the steps to an apartment building at random, rummaging in his pockets as if looking for keys, sweat beading on his brow because he was begging god that please, please don't let Shaun have seen me!

"What is it?" Smurf said.

Shaun was quiet for a second, "I thought I… No… Nothing, let's go."

Desmond hung a little farther back, disappointed that he couldn't hear the conversation any more, even more disappointed that it was obvious that Shaun had more friends than he'd imagined… More than that, Shaun actually had friends he did things with, he hadn't been kidding when he said he had a life…

Desmond was strangely jealous and felt weirdly neglected. He only had Becca and… well, other than Becca and the people he used to drink with—he really didn't count them anymore, not a single one of them had called or come to see him after his birthday when he'd been stuck in that damned hospital, none of them had even so much as asked what had happened— Desmond didn't have any friends… Altair? Well, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to count Altair and Ezio as friends any longer… And there was Shaun with his little group in their baggy colorful clothing and there was Desmond following them like some creepy stalker.

"What am I doing?" Desmond stopped and pulled out his left amplifier, turning it back down and sliding it into place. He let his breath out in a huff and was turning around to leave when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder and he very nearly turned around with a punch.

"Oh, no you don't," Shaun surprisingly enough, didn't sound annoyed. He pulled until Desmond had turned around to face him. "Why were you following me? By the way, that was a pitiful excuse for tailing."

Desmond scratched nervously at his neck, looking up at the displeased faces of Shaun's friends, he wanted to scuff his foot against the ground and say he was sorry and go home—

"Why were you following me, Desmond?" Shaun crossed his arms.

Shaun's friends were scowling but there was something amused in their gazes. Desmond wondered exactly what Shaun had told them about him… how much of an asshole had the Brit made him out to be? How stupid did they think he was from Shaun's stories? How much of a loser did they believe him to be?

Desmond felt heat rise to his face and he looked down with an infinitesimal shake of his head.

The Smurf snorted amusedly.

Desmond wanted to ask just what the fuck he thought was so funny, but bit his tongue instead because Shaun was looking at him sternly and even though it was hard to take him seriously because the orange of his hat clashed with the red of his hair Desmond knew The Business Face when he saw it.

Shaun sighed in irritation when Desmond remained silent and rolled his eyes; "Stop following me… Go—Go home."

When Desmond didn't move Shaun's upper lip rolled back from his teeth, "Didn't you hear me? GO. HOME!" He said it louder, bending close into Desmond's face then back again when the younger man visibly flinched. "Now, did you understand that or should I spell it out for you? Would that make it easier? If I illustrated it?" He lifted his hand, two fingers pointed down. "Desmond," He made quick scissoring motions with his fingers, as if they were walking, "Go," he drew a vague 'house' shape with his other hand in the air and walked the little finger man up to it, "Home!"

His friends giggled.

Desmond swallowed a lump in his throat and looked up, meeting Shaun's eyes, then simply because it had hurt he smiled, "Yeah, I heard you… loud and clear…" He snuffed and took in the confused expression on Shaun's face before he turned, sneering at each of the bastard's friends in turn, and left.

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His name was Lewis.

Desmond remembered him… Remembered him smiling and laughing; "Don't worry kid, as soon as your dad gives us the money you're home free."

Lewis had aged… He'd been thirty-something at the time of the kidnapping, now he looked at least sixty. His hair was no longer blonde, but grey. There were lines on his face and his eyes weren't smiling anymore, they were dark and wary. A scar pulled in the corner of his mouth and Desmond imagined some thug in prison pinning Lewis against the wall and giving him that scar… among others. He shuddered and lowered himself into the chair across from him, keeping his left hand hidden in his pocket, fiddling with his phone.

Lewis cleared his throat, "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show."

Desmond lowered his voice and carefully pulled off his sunglasses, hooking them in the collar of his shirt, eyes narrowed, expression pinched. He hadn't shaved in a few days and he was sure it was the shadow on his jaws as well as the dark lighting that pulled of the disguise, that and Lewis had never laid eyes on Altair before. "Yeah, well, I've had things to do."

Lewis nodded, "I understand…" He rolled his beer bottle between his hands, "… I really don't want to talk to the police, that's why I called you—but I—Someone needs to know and you said you'd keep me anonymous in your report so… Where would you like me to start, Mr. Hayes?"

"Altair's fine…" He swallowed a tight nervous lump in his throat, "Just start at the beginning."

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It was nearly three in the morning when Desmond awoke to his phone buzzing loudly beneath his head. He was confused at first, who would be calling him at this hour? He snarled and levered himself up, turning on the lamp and fishing his phone out of his pillow case, pressing it tightly to his good ear and hiding his cheek in the pillow again; "Hello?"

"Desmond?"

"Yeah? Who is this?"

"It… it's Shaun—"

"Shaun? Shaun who? I don't know any assholes named Shaun."

"Ha-bloody-ha… Look, I-I wanted to apologize for earlier…"

"Oh, fuck you and your apology," He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh, "Who told you?"

"What?"

"The only reason you'd be apologizing is if someone told you. Who was it? Altair? Fucking baskterd…"

"Fucking what? Baskterd?"

"Shut up."

"Des—"

"Just shut up."

Shaun was quiet for a few seconds, "Desmond… would—would you let me in, please? I've been knocking at your door for twenty minutes."

Desmond hissed a curse under his breath and rolled out of bed, phone still pressed to his ear. He scratched at the side of his face, pulled the slide bar, then unlocked the deadbolt and doorknob before he pulled the door open and shuffled back into the dark confines of his little room.

Shaun stared in awe and shock because he hadn't expected Desmond to live in such a… miniscule place. Desmond's personality was huge, how did it fit into one tiny room above a seedy bar? He clicked his phone off and put it away still looking left and right at the plastic storage totes stacked against the walls. The thick curtains over the windows. The tiny twin-sized bed with the mussed sheets and flattened pillows. Desmond's shoes sitting under the table, his wallet beside the hotplate. The blinking light on his laptop charger barely visible under the bed. Christ this place was tiny.

Desmond shoved his phone back into his pillow case and sat heavily on his bed rubbing his face.

Shaun remained standing, shifting unhappily on his feet.

"Just spit it out already," Desmond leaned back hands propped by his hips and squinted sleepily. "I've got shit to do today and trust me, this isn't it."

Shaun nodded and pulled his hat off his head. His hair was still damp with sweat and he smelled vaguely of alcohol and that sour tang of too many overheated bodies pressed too close. His pupils were wide even in the lamplight and Desmond wondered if it was adrenaline or something else. Shaun didn't seem the type to imbibe in narcotics, but he hadn't seemed the type to go to raves either.

"I came to apologize."

"Because someone told you and now you feel bad… Fuck off, Shaun, I don't want your pity."

Shaun looked at the floor between his shoes. "No one told me… When we were discussing the case the other evening I saw… Through your hair. I didn't realize it until after I'd already said what I had…"

Desmond rubbed his ear self-consciously. "Right, fine… you've apologized, go away."

But Shaun didn't move.

Desmond snarled; "Do you want me to illustrate for you?"

He flinched and twisted his hat some more.

Desmond looked at him again, a little more awake and let his breath out in a sigh; "You're drunk, aren't you."

"A little."

"A little?"

"Maybe a lot… Alice was disqualified from the competition because she threw her drink on a judge, the idiot running the sound system didn't know the difference between Tectonic and Electronica, my sister's a Jumper and I haven't got a leg over in three years nine months so—"

Desmond blinked stupidly; "You haven't what?"

"Sex, Desmond."

And suddenly Desmond was very-very awake. "I'm not having sex with you!"

Shaun blinked, shook his head and at least had the decency to blush; "What? No! O-of course not! Why—why would anyone want to have sex with you?"

Desmond scowled.

Shaun drew himself up, squaring his shoulders; "Besides, I only came to apologize and I've done so… so so… So I'm leaving now, goodbye," But he didn't move.

Desmond stared up at him.

Shaun stared back.

Desmond scowled; "Get out, go away, you're drunk and I don't want you puking in my room, the smell'll last for a week and I'm damned well not cleaning it up if you do!"

"Did you speak with that man."

"What man?"

"The van man… The—the man."

Desmond's lips pursed. "Yeah."

"Well."

"Well what?"

"How was it! What did he say! My god are you really that dense!"

Desmond rubbed his face, "I hate you, Shaun… I really—really hate you," A sigh remembering Lewis sucking down his beer, eyes on the tabletop as he spoke in a whisper, glancing nervously left and right, his back pressed tightly against the wall as if afraid someone may come up and shank him, "He told me a lot of stuff. That there were two men he answered to, only one of them was Rodrigo… He said they had an Inside Man… a Golden Boy."

"What?" Shaun's lip rolled back, imagining gilded statues.

Lewis had said it quietly, half into his beer bottle, his expression dark like a man about to jump from a skyscraper without a parachute. Desmond felt the same in that moment, "A dirty cop, Shaun… Rodrigo had a cop on his side… HE said that the only reason Rodrigo was caught at all was because of Altair, if the Auditores hadn't called in Altair and he hadn't found what he had they would have got away, not because of lack of evidence, but because there was a cop doctoring what evidence there was."

Shaun rubbed a hand over his face and sat heavily on the foot of Desmond's bed. "Christ, you're putting me on."

"No…" Desmond scratched his head, "I really, really wish I was…"

Shaun exhaled, feeling decidedly more sober that before; "Right, so… what else did he say?"

"That he never met the cop, didn't have a name or even what rank he was, only that it was a man and that he and Rodrigo knew one another from 'way back'… I spent the night going over it—" He motioned to the mess of papers and files on his table, "And it fits. Why there were no leads, why those other kids got snatched before us and there wasn't even a proper investigation… And it got me thinking, which cop was on both cases? Who had access to that information? I made a list… There were ten cops from one precinct, and twelve from another that were both on the two cases. Fifteen of those same men and women are still there. Three have retired, one moved and one was killed two years ago ILD."

"ILD?"

"In the line of duty… Domestic Dispute, the perp shot him seven times in the back, then shot his wife in the face."

Shaun winced. "So, one of those men or women is responsible for all of this mess?"

"Yeah," Desmond bowed his forehead onto his knees, "Which means there is fuck all I can do about it. A dirty cop is like a death sentence, if they realize I've got wind of them I'm fucked. They could come after me, or worse yet, come after Altair and Ezio AND me… This—this is bad, Shaun… this is like BAD NEWS, man."

Shaun thought that was an understatement. "So, what are we going to do?"

"There's not much we can do! I-I've got to either drop the case completely, or make the guy think I don't know about him, make him think El 'Tardo the Van Man didn't tell me anything important and secretly try to figure out who he is, find evidence and take it to internal affairs. But I-I don't know if I can do it, Shaun… It—it's like something out of a fucking book or a movie and it scares me, alright?" He ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes tightly closed; "This is DEEP SHIT and I can't tell Altair about it!"

"Why not?"

Desmond lifted his head, scrubbed his hair off his brow and met Shaun's eyes levelly; "I can't tell him because Chris and Walker are on that list."

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	5. Chapter 5

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**Chapter 5; Evidence**

Shaun was very sober by the time he made it back to his apartment. His head ached and his mouth was cottony, but he was sober enough to realize he and Desmond were in over their heads already and they'd not had the case for more than a week. Who was he kidding, this case had been over their heads before they'd even been given the file. It was going on ten years of stratospheric habitation… Dear FUCK Shaun wanted to be drunk again.

He pushed open the door and shut it behind him, working the locks into the secure position before he did anything else. He barely even realized there was someone in the kitchen, someone who was most definitely not his sister, but was wearing a pair of her underpants.

Shaun pointed but didn't turn to affirm what he already knew, just leveled a finger at the boy and growled out as he passed by the door and shut himself in his little room; "Don't you dare say a bloody word, understand? And if I hear the bedsprings so much as sigh I'll castrate you with a rusty teaspoon."

Shaun was vaguely aware of a startled, humiliated expression and wide dark eyes, but he didn't let himself dwell on the fact, just shut and locked his bedroom door and buried his face under the pillow. Christ of all the fucking days…

A few moments later there was a knock on his door; "Shaun?" Elisabeth sounded truly concerned. God that was rich, her being concerned about him. "Shaun, are you alright? W-why didn't you come home last night?"

Shaun lifted his head but didn't open his eyes; "One; Because I was working…Two; You're a bloody traitor and I hate you! Jumping is BLASPHEMY! And Three; because my baby sister and her boyfriend were shagging like rabbits and I was unable to reconcile that you've had more sex than I have and decided that, like Shrodinger's Cat, if I can't see it, it is both happening and not happening and I can retain the illusion that you're a booger nosed four-year-old interested in bugs and not a seventeen-year-old with a box of adult toys she used my credit-card to buy and a stash of male-on-male erotica larger than my own!"

"Shaun—"

"No, go away, leave me and my illusions in peace, Elisabeth, for God sake give me that at least…"

She sighed, "Fine… But Mum's Lawyer called last night for you, said you need to call him back immediately."

Shaun groaned audibly and threw a magazine at the door. "Mum can go drown in cocaine for all I care! The solicitor as well!"

"Shaun don't talk about Mum that way! What happened? You—You're not acting right… Have you and Desmond broken up?"

He shouted something at her in Beagle, Eli pouted but let the matter drop and turned to Petruccio with a shrug.

"What'd he say?" Petruccio's nose was wrinkled up in confusion.

"He said he is not attracted to Desmond at all and I should go play with my Little Pony while he still has all his parts."

"My Little Pony?" Petruccio blinked rapidly.

"He meant you."

"What? I-I'm not a Pony! And what did he mean 'all his parts'?"

She sighed, eyes rolling back into her head; "Have you not heard the expression 'Italian Stallion'?"

"Yeah I've heard it but wha—OH!" His chest seemed to puff up proudly.

Eli felt herself blush to the ends of her hair. "Don't grin at me like that, it's disturbing! You make me feel all—" She writhed where she stood, twisting her fingers and arms like snakes; "All squidgy inside!"

He grinned wider.

"Stop! I mean it! I'm gooey in the center as it is, you're making it worse! Especially when you're wearing my pants… Good god you're wearing my pants," She wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her lips, made a whimpering noise and turned away with her hands over her face. "Damn you and you're waiting… If you don't go put on trousers this instant I'll tape you to the nearest flat surface and do unspeakable things to you!"

Petruccio chuckled amusedly but went to find his jeans.

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Shaun called Desmond that afternoon and they met down town to discuss their 'options'.

Desmond seemed excited and as they walked spoke quickly about different movies he'd seen and books he'd read. The longer he spoke the more Shaun realized they had very few options and everything Desmond suggested sounded particularly dangerous and likely to get one of them killed.

"We have to get evidence," Desmond said finally, "We have to somehow get proof that there is a cop involved and who it is, without that cop knowing what we're doing. We have to set a trap."

"How do you set a trap for a policeman?"

Desmond scratched his head, "I don't know… We'll think of something. But we have to make the guy think one thing, when we're doing something else… Make him think we don't know. Drop a hint maybe? Something that if it gets out we'll know."

"You mean like you'd color water to find a leak in the piping? Intentionally tell them something important and wait to see where the information comes out?"

"Right… We just have to figure out what to leak."

Shaun was quiet for a few minutes, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, glasses perched on the end of his nose; "When should we do it? Soon? If not soon we'll have time to think of something."

"No, not soon, that'd be too suspicious, they'll realize HE told us something if we do that… Fuck, this'd be a lot easier if we knew for certain Altair's brothers were clean."

Shaun nodded; "Well, we could test them…"

"How?"

"Tell them you've got an interview with someone who claims to have witnessed someone creeping into, or out of the Auditore house… Or better yet, an interview with one of the people who broke in. Then, all we have to do is wait until the information spreads a little, set up a fake interview and see what happens… If the people who vandalized the house are of the same ilk of those who kidnapped you two, the information should resurface and we'll find our leak!"

Desmond thought about it for a minute; "And if we do find this leak, what's to say they won't just shoot us, or hire someone to shoot us? Did you think of that?"

Shaun rubbed his face. "I'm banking on the hope that they'll be more civilized and not go on a shooting spree."

"I hope you're right… Okay, we'll tell one precinct that we're having an interview in one place and the other that we're having the interview in another, then I'll go to one location and you'll go to the other and we'll see which one does or doesn't get shot at!"

"No shooting! I don't want to be shot at… Christ, this isn't a movie, Desmond, there is very little chance we'll be shot at!"

Desmond laughed; "This is Chicago! We're lucky to walk down the street and not get shot at!"

Shaun scowled; "Your plan is rubbish, Desmond. We'll have to be more covert… An anonymous tip perhaps, that way we don't appear to be involved… We can call it in, wait a bit and see what happens. That way, neither of us are running the risk of being riddled with bullets."

Desmond looked unhappy with the concept of playing it safe, but agreed. "Now, we just have to decide which cop to leak it to."

"One of Altair's brothers obviously. That way we can prove, or disprove their innocence quickly. If Borgia had an inside man, we should as well."

Desmond nodded, expression suddenly serious; "Okay… But which one? Or both?"

Shaun squared his shoulders, "Do you have their e-mail addresses?"

"No."

"Of course not, you couldn't make it easy," Shaun sighed and rubbed his face. "Fine, we'll do it the old fashioned way, come on."

Desmond followed silently as Shaun ducked into a small grocery store and took a few of their local circulars. He blanched when Shaun pushed a basket into his hand and they started perusing the canned food section. He looked around nervously noticing one of the cashiers staring at him with narrowed accusing eyes. Desmond wanted to smile and ensure her that he and Shaun were not here together when the nasty bastard looped an arm through Desmond's free one and spoke just loud enough that the blonde woman could hear; "Should we do Panini tonight, or would you rather have something… sweeter?"

Desmond wanted to die, then and there. His lips pulled back from his teeth and he turned away from the woman who had rolled her eyes and was cleaning the conveyer belt beside her register in annoyance. "I hate you, Shaun… I really hate you."

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Desmond was fuming by the time he and Shaun returned to the Brit's apartment. He was so angry he didn't even notice Shaun laying out the newspaper and circulars he'd collected and peeling the labels off the canned food, snipping with scissors until he had a fantastical assortment of letters and words splayed out on the tabletop before him. It wasn't until he looked up from watching the weather broadcast on the TV and noticed Shaun was composing a letter with snipped and pasted words that he finally got over himself.

"What are you doing?"

_"'I have the picture. I know what he did to those little boys. I SAW! In ten days I will send copies to every newspaper in Illinois.'"_

Desmond stood and went into the kitchen staring at each pasted letter over Shaun's shoulder. "Okay, how is that going to give us evidence against the leak?"

"It won't. It will, however tell us if either of Altair's brothers is our man."

"How?"

"If he's the leak he's constantly worrying, constantly on guard to make sure he leaves no evidence. If you were the one and you got this in the mail, wouldn't you be unsettled? You would want to find out what picture and what this person wanted for it. You would want to stop them at all costs without alerting anyone else to the trouble. If you've nothing to hide you wouldn't mind showing it to someone else, would you?"

"Okay, so if one of them is the leak they'll keep it to themselves, if they're not they'll tell someone else!"

"Correct."

"Okay, which one do we send it to?" Desmond sat heavily at the table and propped his chin on his crossed arms.

"It doesn't really matter, we'll get a reaction either way. If it is one and not the other and we send the letter to the innocent one we'll still get a hit because the guilty party will react more swiftly to prevent contact being made. So, we just have to agree on a meeting place, put it in the letter and wait."

"What kind of meeting place?"

"Somewhere impartial that isn't connected to either of us, but a place we are still both familiar with."

Desmond snapped his fingers. "Grant Park! It's open enough that we could hide and get footage. But anonymous enough that they won't be able to figure out it was us!"

Shaun carefully configured words with the snipped letters he had arranged and pasted them to the page using a pair of chopsticks so he wouldn't get his DNA all over it. A time, a date and the place.

"Alright," Shaun said with a sigh, looking at their bait as the paste dried. "Now we just need to put it in the post near Grant Park and wait."

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	6. Chapter 6

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**Chapter 6; Unexpected Delay**

Desmond dropped the letter in a mailbox two days later on Van Buren as he was on his way to meet Lewis again. The man had sent a quick text; _'Heat is on.'_ As well as a location near Buckingham Fountain where they could meet and talk without interruption.

Desmond had called Shaun earlier and told him to go ahead, stake out the place and find a good vantage point for a camera.

Shaun had seemed very enthusiastic about it and done just that. By the time Desmond arrived Shaun was already there with his friends, dressed casually, jeans and a jacket, that obnoxious orange hat on his head. They were settled nearby on a blanket going over photo albums of semi-artistic looking shots and Plaid girl had her camera and every so often took a few shots.

Lewis was already waiting, seated near the fountain eating a hotdog. He glanced up as Desmond approached and nodded.

"Altair."

"Mr. Vaughn," He sat a few feet away and pretended to be doing something on his phone, left hand still hidden from view.

Lewis was quiet for a few minutes, finishing his hotdog. "Borgia's got a man on the move… I don't know how he did it from a prison cell, but he managed it. They call him The Captain… He's looking for the Auditore kid… From what I hear he's offering five-hundred K to whoever turns him over unharmed."

Desmond swallowed nervously. "Oh?"

Lewis nodded, "If I was that kid I'd be making myself really scarce really soon."

"Duly noted…"

Lewis wiped his mouth on his napkin; "I anyone wants to get in touch with the Captain, he can usually be found hanging around the statues," He motioned down the length of the park with his napkin. "Likes to talk about the Agora… Pretty interesting ideas about those things," He stood and brushed crumbs from his front. He didn't say goodbye, just walked away and didn't look back.

Desmond sat there for a few minutes and remembered seeing Agora as a kid, walking back and forth around huge rusty iron legs and bodies, thinking they seemed so intimidating, so… so inhuman. He didn't like them personally, but he wasn't the average person. Most people—Rebecca included—liked to talk about how peaceful they made them feel. Desmond could only feel panic. He could only think of mindless soulless monstrosities flocking together with ill purpose.

He walked over to where Shaun was sitting with his friends and crouched, scratching the stubble on his chin. "I think we got what we need… I hope your Letter Plan works because we could really use some police help with this."

Shaun nodded, "We don't necessarily have to tell them everything, isn't that what Altair was on about? We could just tell them what they need to know."

Desmond hesitated but couldn't find fault with that logic. It could work, he could tell Walker about The Captain and act like the information came from someone else, nobody would know Lewis had spilled his guts. "Okay, in that case, we've gotta make a call but not from here. You got a phone at your place?"

"A landline? Yes," Shaun climbed to his feet and dusted the seat of his pants off. He spoke briefly with his friends and one by one they gathered their blankets and photo albums and departed.

Plaid Girl stayed behind long enough to give Shaun the camera and say she'd see him Thursday.

Shaun waved—more like twitched his chin upward and began looking at the photos she'd taken of Lewis, for their own files of course.

It was a long bus ride across town to Shaun's apartment but Desmond made the call anyway and explained the situation in vague detail to Walker;

"I've got some information into the kidnapping attempt made last week… The guy you're looking for is nicknamed 'The Captain' and he likes to hang around the Agora… He's pretty talkative and has some intense opinions about it—No, I can't tell you that, I was sworn to confidence… There's also a price out on Ezio's head, this guy might be willing to name names if persuaded properly."

Walker took some notes and said he'd look into it.

Desmond and Shaun settled in to wait… They could do nothing to advance the case without knowing for sure Walker and or Chris was not their leak.

Over the next week Altair nagged Shaun about the case but he truthfully said there wasn't much progress, just leg work. Running down every possible lead they had and meeting dead end after dead end.

And then, coming back from one such wild goose chase Sunday evening—Desmond had thought it pertinent to drag Shaun away from Alice's birthday party to go track down a guy who called himself Spin who'd been going around spouting off at the mouth about how he'd broken into this rich banker's house and taken a big shit on his slut of a son's nightstand.

Turns out Spin was just an asshole who had no brain to mouth filter and was unfortunate enough to have read something about the break in in the paper and exaggerated to suit his own means.

Desmond had rather unprofessionally threatened to stomp Spin's teeth into the curb to get the truth out of him and the little runt had folded like a paper fan.

Shaun got the text and another… Hospital? Altair was in the hospital?

The rest, as he would come to understand, was out of his control. Walker had presented the perfect opportunity, had given them the perfect opening to prove one way or another, if Altair's brothers were in the clear within just a few minutes.

"Would this… this John H. Sexfiend be— be opposed to two?"

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	7. Chapter 7

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**Chapter 7; Constant Eye**

Chris Hayes got the letter the afternoon after it was sent. At first he wasn't sure what to think of it. The guys in the mail room had brought it up after the lab had got a look at it. No chemicals on the page, no poisons, just a run of the mill letter, although the paper was lightly hinted with cigarette smoke so whoever had put it together, or someone in their house was a smoker.

The post mark was little help, there were a lot of people who lived along the park and anybody could drive around and stick a letter in any public box at any time.

Chris didn't know what to think of it. The police department got more empty threats and prank mail than anybody else. It would just be his luck if the letter was just empty and some teenager getting their rocks off wasting tax payer's money and the polices' time.

Chris was tempted to just throw it away, but because he couldn't be sure it WASN'T legitimate, he took it to Walker.

Walker took one look at it, scrunched his brows and said; "Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it."

And Chris thought nothing else of it. It was the sting actually that jogged his memory of the letter, something he'd overheard the perp say as he was being loaded into the back of a car.

"You idiots… You're all idiots! All this time he's been right under your nose!" He'd banged his head so hard into the screen partition between the rear seat and the forward bench so hard he'd cut his forehead.

Chris remembered staring at the bastard and the blood on his face, how the skin had been torn enough to flap a little as he raged in righteous indignation.

"You don't have any evidence! You have NOTHING!" He laughed and laughed and Chris finally got tired of it and walked away. By that time Altair, Ezio and Shaun were gone and Chris rode back to the precinct in the VC van.

Evidence… Evidence.

The letter claimed that this person had a picture, had proof of what an ambiguous 'He' had done to little kids. Could this person be talking about the sleaze ball 'Captain'?

What could it hurt, just to check on it? Just to show up, play coy and see who was there, who could have evidence and against whom.

What could it hurt?

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The meeting place the letter's writer referred to was a bar. They always seemed to be bars. This one catered to business class, white collar assholes who worked out in private gyms where the treadmills came with video screens that let you imagine you were running in exotic places, had manicures and got massages every Thursday during Lunch because the stress was just so high. Chris felt like a big ugly pulsing pimple on some supermodel's ass he stuck out so badly.

He sat in the back of the room, like he'd been told and ordered something to eat. It was kind of strange to be in a bar that served more than nachos and chips. Once or twice he thought he saw a familiar face swim in the crowd but couldn't be sure. He wasn't too familiar with Thorpe's partner outside of work, for all he knew this could be the guy's favorite spot. After fifteen minutes had gone by where he didn't see the guy again he pushed the thought aside and waited.

The letter had said eleven-thirty… it was nearing last call now and still the perp hadn't shown up.

Christ, this was so stupid. It probably had been a prank and he'd fallen for it.

He folded a few dollars as a tip under his empty plate and stood. He'd wasted half his night sitting here and he wasn't wasting a minute more. Not when he had a warm bed and a willing woman waiting at home. He wasn't in his twenties anymore, going into the station in the same clothes as the day before wearing dark sunglasses because he hadn't slept was stupid. It was as he was leaving that a hand brushed his elbow in a really too familiar way and he turned.

The guy had just melted into the crowd, straight laced, clean cut boring and easily forgettable in his gray-brown suit. He looked like any other corporate asshole in the whole place and Chris had to have looked him in the face a dozen times and not recognized him until now when his mouth was quirked up at the corner in irritation and his brows were pulled down behind his glasses.

Chris Hayes was not a stupid man and he specialized in longshots. "You sent that letter?"

Shaun narrowed his eyes but nodded.

"You do know it's illegal to falsify information, or to prank the police, right? I could arrest you and have you shipped back to London."

"But you won't."

"No… Because I'm pretty sure you did it for a reason more intelligent than getting your rocks off making cops run around like headless chickens."

"Correct. Now, answer me this… Who did you tell about it?"

"Just my brother."

"Did he tell anyone else?"

"Probably, he is a detective, your lucky you didn't have a whole team on this place."

"Luck, or intention?"

Chris's brows drew down and he let himself be pulled to a table at the side of the room.

Shaun folded his hands on the tabletop. "Is it not protocol to have an entire team present during such things? Especially when a 'threatening letter' is part of the equation?"

Chris's mouth opened and closed with a click. It was. You had the person the letter asked for and you had at least six plain clothes officers placed at strategic points around the area, especially if it's in a crowded place and they could hide easily. You had armed backup in case things went tits up. You never walked into a situation like this alone. Chris had come with his gun and a text message to Thorpe detailing where he was and why just a single button click from being sent in case something went wrong. Yes, it had been dangerous coming here alone, but Walker would have thought he was being stupid if he'd known he was coming. Walker would have reminded him that nine out of ten letters like this that came in were fake and that it would be better to send a surveillance team in instead. He had believed Walker when he'd said; 'I'll handle it.' But… but why hadn't there been a team here? Chris was good at recognizing faces and the only one he was sure he'd seen was Thorpe's partner. Abbas was never the face of surveillance situations. He was too recognizable. Someone will sooner remember the details of a man's face if that man was not the 'norm' in the situation. So, unless this really was his favorite bar there really shouldn't have been any reason for him to be here. It should have been Walker himself and…

"What are you implying," Chris leaned forward in his seat, trying to appear intimidating, but Shaun was cool like ice and didn't seem fazed at all.

"It's not implication. It's most probably truth and it fits with the evidence perfectly."

"What evidence?"

Shaun slid a piece of paper across the table, folded neatly and symmetrically into fourths. "Go home, Mr. Hayes… And once you're there, call this number, but only after you're home, understand?"

Chris scoffed; "Seriously? Kid, what do you think this is, James Bond or some shit? What's with the covert act?" He started to unfold it but Shaun's expression was dark and something stopped him, ate slowly at the back of his mind.

Why hadn't walker sent a team here? Even if a threatening letter was just a prank, there was still a team sent, just in case, unless sound evidence was found that the letter was truly false and as far as Chris had heard and seen around the office, there hadn't been even so much as a peep about this… Walker had said; 'I'll take care of it.'

"What is this about?" Chris tucked the folded paper into his wallet deliberately so Shaun could see he was taking the request seriously.

Shaun visibly relaxed and stood to leave, pulling on his blazer; "If we're correct it could blow a few cold cases wide open and bring down one of the largest child trafficking rings in recorded history… It could also get us killed, but I—for one—am willing to take that risk if it means stopping these sick bastards and making the world a little safer."

Chris snorted but didn't say anything. He'd gained a new perspective in the past few months, he would be a father in the spring and the thought of some sicko out there on the hunt for kids and the added risk that he was a police officer, the thought that someone holding a grudge, or even just the bald chance someone would kidnap his baby made him sick to his stomach.

He would… he would do anything to keep his kid safe. Even if that kid was only about four inches long and buried deep in Thorpe's belly, he wanted to make the world a better place for the kid and if this was the way to do it, he would.

"Alright… When I get home."

Shaun nodded and left.

Chris had a beer and called a cab.

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The next morning, sitting in bed with his head in his hands he would wonder how he had been able to go to sleep with something like that ringing in his ears.

Desmond had sounded so relieved on the phone, relieved and scared to death; "I have it on good authority that there is a dirty cop in your midst… Someone who—for some reason or another—was indebted to one of these guys and tampered with evidence. It makes sense. I mean—those two kids who were snatched before Ezio and me, why wasn't there a full investigation into them? Why wasn't the FBI informed about them? Why did it take Altair to make anybody else notice?"

And silent cogs started turning in Chris's head. It fit perfectly. A cop, someone on both cases who had tampered just enough with evidence to hide someone's tracks. Possibly even his own tracks.

Desmond and Shaun had narrowed down their list to just a handful of people. Ruling out all but two of the female officers and Chris was horrified to hear that Walker was on that list, but—but something clicked. Why wouldn't Walker follow protocol and send a team to that bar? Even a small one, just to check it out? Why would he completely shut it down?

Chris didn't want to think of his brother as being corrupt. Walker was a father, he was married, he had kids! He went to frickin Disney World every other year and rode in teacups with his daughter for Christ sake! The man didn't even miss having dinner at home unless a case made that impossible. He was a good man and a good father, how could it be possible that he may have been altering evidence and making it harder or impossible to find kids that had been taken? It didn't seem right and Chris tried futilely to shove it from his mind.

No, it couldn't be. Not at all, it had to be someone else!

But then… why had Abbas been there alone? Why hadn't there been a team?

ASK HIM! For fuck-sake, just ask him why he didn't send a team!

But, what if he did? What if he is a leak?

Chris battled with himself until it was time to leave and most of that day he was stiff and unreadable, going over and over and over in his head the reasons why Walker couldn't be a leak… and conversely, the reasons he could be.

At three that evening Walker approached him and asked him if he was feeling OK that he had seemed 'off' all day.

Chris put on a smile but couldn't meet his brother's eyes; "Nothin', just a headache…"

Walker wasn't convinced but he gave a slow nod and turned to leave.

It happened without his permission, just a strange desperate need to reaffirm his brother was a good and honest man and denial that it could be otherwise, Chris spoke;

"Hey, did you—did you hear anything about that letter? The one about the picture?"

Walker was still for a microsecond, hands in his pockets, then he nodded; "Yeah."

"Oh? What happened?"

"Nothing much, I asked around turns out it was a couple teenagers who thought they'd be funny. I didn't waste any time with it after that. Just put it in the old round filing cabinet."

Chris's throat and jaw tightened and he felt cold in his chest but he choked it down; "And the picture?"

Walker smiled, crooked and so familiar— Chris thought about how insincere it was;

"There was no picture."

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	8. Chapter 8

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**Chapter 8; Elegant Deception**

Desmond stopped at the top of the stairs, lips pursed eyebrows up. The door to Altair's bedroom was closed and the blind had been pulled. "Huh, he must be home…"

Shaun took a drink of his tea; "Good, now maybe you'll finally be quiet!"

Desmond rolled his eyes and hiked his bag higher on his shoulder; "You be quiet."

"I am quiet. I'm like a mouse, can't you tell?"

"Mice aren't quiet, they chew and chew and shit in your cereal."

Shaun snorted; "Oh, yes, how could I have forgotten how loud a little mouse's teeth are chewing through cereal boxes. God help us all!"

"Shut up," Desmond unlocked the office door and went directly to the desk, checking the voice mail and immediately popping open the window to retrieve the file cabinet key from the bottom of the air conditioner. "Here," He tossed it Shaun's way; "Pull out the Mackey file…"

"Mackey?"

"Yeah, the little girl taken before Ezio and I."

Shaun nodded, sat his things down and pulled the file, hanging the key on a nail by the annoyingly dusty plant that had appeared recently on top of the cabinet. "What am I looking for?"

"Just read me the name of the detective on point."

"Joshua English and… Walker Hayes—Well, that settles it, doesn't it. It's one of the two."

"Yeah, about…" Desmond had a notebook open, writing quickly in his nearly indecipherable script. "We just have to wait for Chris now. What did he say when he talked to you last?"

"He was still going over the evidence again, looking for anomalies."

"Anything?"

"Other than that misplaced set of finger prints from your and Ezio's case, no… But that should be enough to get Internal Affairs interested, compounded with what we've already uncovered. It'll give them reasonable doubt anyway."

"Enough to cash a shadow on them," Desmond rubbed his face. "Jesus, I need coffee."

Shaun snorted, walked over and plunked his half empty cup of tea down in front of him; "You're lucky you don't have kidney stones yet from all the Red Bull and coffee you've been subsisting on… Try that," He paused at the fax machine and paged through what had come in the night before. Basic stuff, summons mostly, a few follow-ups from one or two of Desmond's 'Snitches'.

Shaun sent off a reply to the bar manager where he and Chris had met weeks ago thanking him for confirming that Thorpe's partner was not a regular at that particular establishment and hadn't returned since.

"Add another to our list of suspects," He passed the fax to Desmond and watched as the younger man made notes. "And, your fly on the wall sends his regards," He held the paper out to Desmond, sneering at the untidy scrawl and the post office fax confirmation sheet.

Desmond sighed and read it over twice, taking a careful sip of the tea and finding it palatable; "Mickey wants to meet."

"No."

"Not you're call, Shaun."

"I don't trust him!"

"He's a snitch, of course you're not supposed to trust him. Any guy who would sell out his friends would hold no reserves when selling you out as well!"

"Then why in God's name are we about to trust him?"

"I've got a hunch."

"Oh, well… that makes everything alright then!" Shaun waved his arms in the air then propped his fists on his hips; "Desmond's got a bloody hunch! Someone throw a fucking parade!"

"Shaun, this job is more than just facts, you've got to take into account the human element. We're bound by law, just like the cops, to do certain things. But we can also do things the cops can't, like look into these leads… You don't trust Weasel, that's fine… Altair didn't either apparently because he didn't even attempt to contact him after he called in—I on the other hand, think he's on to something. SO, we're gonna go check it out."

"When? I'm not going tonight. I've got—I've got a date."

Desmond tittered loudly and took another drink of the tea; "You? A date? With who, your right hand?"

Shaun made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and sneered at him; "No, Desmond… I'm not emulating your normal Friday nights… Sorry, I'm not that much of a fan."

Desmond swirled the remains of the tea in the cup, prying the lid off to stare down into it before he gulped the rest of it down; "I know you just insulted me… I'm not exactly sure how, but I know you just insulted me, so fuck you," He tipped the cup up over his mouth, put the lid back on and pitched it toward Shaun's garbage can.

Shaun rolled his eyes and went back to his seat; "Well done, three points."

"Oh, you know basketball?"

"Played for a bit in Uni… Got tired of having my glasses broken so I stopped."

"And you took up dancing in stead?"

Shaun snorted; "What would you know about dancing."

"I can dance."

"No, you can't."

"What would you know, you call that crap you do dancing?"

"It's called Shuffle and it's harder than it looks," His nose wrinkled; "And how would you know what it looks like?"

"I saw you a while back, when I came to get you? The night Altair collapsed?"

Shaun blanched; "That was rude of you, by the way."

"Boo-hoo… What your sister was doing looked fun—"

"Jumping is blasphemy, you'd do well to remember that!"

Desmond practically giggled; "Naw, it's cute… you and your sister wearing matching costumes."

"We did not match, she was in green, I was in orange—Oh why do I bother, you're bloody color blind anyway."

Desmond giggled again and picked up another file. "Tectonic beats Shuffle, kiss my ass."

Shaun went rigid and seemed to bristle like a cat, turning wide angry eyes to Desmond with his nose wrinkled.

Desmond snorted and bowed in on himself laughing.

"You are dead to me, Desmond Miles! Dead!" Shaun turned back to his paperwork in a huff.

"Aw, come on, I'm just screwin' around!"

Shaun ignored him.

"Oh, you big baby, fine," Desmond slouched in his seat and paged through his file in silence. He maintained the quiet for all of three minutes before with a loud groan he caved like a house of cards; "Fuck, I'm hungry… Shaun, go get me a pizza."

"Yeah, hmmm… NO."

"Aw, come on! I'm the one with the actual license here, you're just the fucking intern! You have to do what I say."

"Desmond, if I leave no work will be done until I've returned… You may be the one with the license, but you have an abhorring lack of respect for paperwork and your organization skills, as well as your handwriting are atrocious."

"At least I don't spend the whole day talking out of my ass."

"No, you spend the whole day sitting on it, that's a great improvement, Des… Really."

"Oh, come on! I'll even pay for it! Look—Shaun… Shaun? Fuck, man, grow up! Come ON! I'm starving here!"

"I really doubt going three hours without eating constitutes starving, even if your metabolism would put the Flash to shame."

"I'm staaaarrrviiiinnng!"

"You're booooorrrred!" Shaun put a paper clip on a file and threw it like a frisbee at Desmond's head; "Here, read over this and I'll go get food in two hours—" He held up a hand before Desmond could protest; "And for every syllable of protest you utter that adds ten minutes waiting!"

Desmond wrinkled his nose up and shook his head mockingly but opened the file and only thought about flicking the paperclip in Shaun's direction.

"Look at you two… acting all professional… It's so cute!" Altair cooed as he and Ezio came into the room.

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Shaun wasn't sure how Chris found out where he lived, but at eleven-thirty that night, just as Shaun had been beating down Alice and Michael Bailey-Foster in the MMORPG of the week, fabulously free of Elisabeth until Friday evening, lounging around in his underpants and a T-shirt, glasses askew and totally absorbed in the game, there was a knock on his door.

"GO AWAY!" He shouted loudly and turned back to the game, pausing only long enough to take another drink of his beer.

"Mr. Hastings, do you really want me to break this door down?"

"Who is it?"

"I found your leak."

Shaun hesitated, then quickly removed himself from the skirmish, powered down his computer and yanked on a pair of rumpled slacks he had lying around in his room.

Chris's shoulders were damp from the light rain and his face was dark. "You gonna let me in or are we just gonna stand here all night?"

Shaun shook his head and held the door open. He looked back and forth outside in the hallway to make sure Chris hadn't been followed then shut and locked it as he came back into the room.

Chris was standing in the middle of the living room with his hands over his face, water dripping off his hair. He looked like he'd been drinking, the toes of his shoes cocked together and his face flushed with something other than chill.

"Would you like a coffee?" Shaun moved past him warily into the kitchen.

"Yeah… yeah, thanks," He took a chair when Shaun pointed and bowed his head over his knees, fingers in his hair.

Shaun came back a few minutes later with the coffee and took a seat on the couch, rubbing his hands on his knees nervously. "Alright, you've found him? How? Who is it?" He was anxious and didn't particularly like the energy coming off of Chris. Unstable and just half an instant from flying into a drunken rage, Shaun felt like a child again just waiting in the room he shared with Elisabeth for Dad to snap and come wake them up to preach at them. It was no wonder Mother turned to drugs with what that old man had done to her on a daily basis. Shaun felt seven years old again watching his still pregnant mother be beaten into premature labor. He gnawed his lip and rubbed his knees harder.

Chris took a drink of his coffee and held the cup between his hands, fingers shaking as they were burnt. "It's my brother… I'm almost certain it's him. I don't—I don't want it to be him, but he completely disregarded that letter… didn't send a team to look into it—I asked around and he didn't tell anyone else at all—" Another drink; "—I'm also sure Thorpe's partner Abe has something to do with it. He was at that bar for a while the other night, like he was watching me and there wasn't a team—Fuck, why wasn't there a goddamned team? That's protocol! There—there has to be something… He said there wasn't a picture, said the letter was from a bunch of kids but you… Jesus, he has kids! He rides in fucking teacups at Disney! How could he do this shit?"

Shaun nodded and worked his fingers into the crease of his slacks, scratching and pulling and trying to get his palms to stop sweating. Walker. Walker was the leak, his own and Chris' evidence pointed right at him and Chris had confirmed his suspicion about Thorpe's partner as well. Wonderful… the fucking plot kept getting thicker.

_I should write a novel about this_, Shaun thought absently_. Nobody would believe it._

"He was so sure there wasn't a picture… But why else would THAT have set him off?" Another drink, "There is a picture, isn't there. There's a picture that incriminates him and he knows about it! Do you have it? Do you have the proof?"

Shaun shook his head and held up his hands; "No, no… I don't have it, but this is a good sign, isn't it? If he's trying to make it disappear so quickly, perhaps there is a photo. Now, we just have to find it… Does your brother have any place he likes to hide things that are important to him? Perhaps a safe in his home or a hidden compartment in his desk drawer? Someplace you could access?"

Chris shook his head. "I mean, yeah, he has a safe at home, but there's only like baby pictures and shit in there… Bank papers and receipts… I think his wife keeps her jewelry in there—Fuck, he's MARRIED how—it can't be him, he can't!"

Shaun held his palms upward in an attempt to placate the older man; "He CAN… My father was a vicar and still he beat and raped my mother nightly and terrorized my sister and me. Just because he's a loving father doesn't mean he can't also be a psychopath. It just means he's a fantastic actor."

Chris bowed over his knees, arms wrapped around his head. He rocked back and forth a few times like a child trying to calm himself and finally raised his head, scrubbing the sleeve of his coat over his face. "Fine, yeah, OK… What do you two need me to do then? Find this picture without lettin' on that I'm looking for it?"

"Precisely."

"What if he catches on to what I'm doin?"

"Then you run like your hair's on fire."

"I've got a kid—I mean—Thorpe and me. We're gonna have a kid, I can't just—just leave! What if he does somethin' to them to get to me?"

Shaun scratched his forehead; "Do you have any vacation time at all?"

"A couple days, yeah."

"Plan to use them… Tell—tell them the two of you are eloping or something… Schedule plane tickets, somewhere commercial, somewhere warm. Act as though you're going to use them, but instead the two of you get in your car and drive… drive as fast as you can as far as you can… You're a policeman, you know how he thinks, you know how criminals think, just disappear… any evidence you're able to collect mail it directly to Altair. Desmond may not want to involve him in this, but it has come to the point that he needs to know. If you can't mail it to him, call him."

Chris nodded and scrubbed his face again, "What about you two? If he catches onto me he'll be on to you too?"

"Don't worry about us, I have friends in low places and Desmond is just stupid enough to scrape by like a damned cat—got more than nine lives that one, I guarantee you."

Chris nodded snuffed loudly—wetly—and nodded again. "Okay, yeah, OK."

"Good man," Shaun snuffed, rubbed his still sweating palms on his slacks and glanced at the clock. "We don't have much time… This—this needs to be stopped as soon as possible. When can you get a look in that safe?"

Chris rubbed his face again, compulsively; "I—I don't know…" He hesitated then looked up at Shaun with an expression of urgency on his face; "Yeah—yeah, his daughter's got a ballet recital this weekend, they're all goin… I'll do it then. They'll be out of the house—I've got an extra key."

Shaun nodded and climbed to his feet, disappearing into his room and coming out with a notebook. He wrote in it quickly, names, addresses dates, everything of importance he could remember from the case file and handed it over; "Look for things like this, any of those names, or photos of the missing children. Dates, bank transfers. That man spoke of payments. There would be substantial deposits made, most likely in cash. Ten-thousand at a time over a few weeks. Made to look like lottery winnings perhaps, or stock investments… Something unusual but benign in appearance. Maybe even a small business—"

"You mean a front?"

Shaun nodded; "Like a restaurant or a—"

And Chris went pale; "The bakery…"

"What?"

Chris didn't answer, just climbed to his feet, hands shaking and turned a complete circle. "Listen," He didn't meet Shaun's eyes but there was something frantic in his expression; "I-I wasn't here… None of this. We didn't talk… We've NEVER talked!"

Shaun's stomach tightened; "What are you on about—"

Chris was heading toward the door; "Look, Shaun, keep your head down, OK? You and Desmond, you lay low for a few weeks, act like the case went cold, OK? Act like you've dropped it entirely!" He licked his lips, "If I'm right and I sincerely fucking hope I'm not, then this thing is hinging on one big thing and I might know right where to find it!" And he was gone out the door and out of sight.

Shaun stared after him for a second, blinked stupidly and shut his door.

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	9. Chapter 9

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**Chapter 9; Pirate Treasure**

Chris had never liked the idea of breaking and entering. He had always felt that anyone stupid enough to do it deserved to be caught. However, that did not mean he was bad at it, in truth Chris Hayes was very good at breaking and entering and had been doing it since he was young sneaking out and back into his childhood home from sneaking around with the neighborhood girls. It didn't take much to get into Walker's house, disable the security alarm and find his brother's home office in the gloom.

It was easy to get the safe open, Walker's wife's birthday was the combination and he cracked it on the first try. He kept his flashlight low, dimmed in his fist so the glow didn't break through the curtains and alert the neighbors. It was imperative he got through the contents without alerting anyone of his presence. He unfolded the list Shaun had given him on the floor between his knees and carefully went through every carefully labeled manila envelope in the whole thing.

There were photos of his kids, of his wife, money. Receipts and bills paid. A copy of Walker's up-to-date living will, stocks and bonds, the usual. Chris found the bank records in their own file and cross checked his suspicions against the black and white proof in front of him.

Every two weeks, like clockwork, five grand went into Walker's saving's account. Deposited in cash from banks around the city. Chris scribbled down the banks location numbers to cross check on his map later and covered Walker's copy machine with his coat to copy each one. No light escaped it and he folded the copies carefully into his pocket.

There were also letters from Walker's ex-girlfriend, his son's mother asking when she could see him again, that she missed him. Chris assumed they were about the boy, but realized after he'd scanned the third that it was more than likely Walker was seeing her behind Sharon's back, he copied them as well, just to have proof of them to confront Sharon with after all this Mess was over, give her another reason to divorce the bastard.

Chris stilled and bowed his head, nausea boiling his stomach when he realized any respect he'd had for his elder brother had evaporated and he didn't know when it had happened. When he'd gone from denial of Walker's involvement to certainty of his guilt, he carefully replaced everything back into the safe where he'd taken it from, turned off the copy machine and put his jacket back on. He only had a few minutes to slip from the house before Walker's neighbor came home from work and he ran the risk of seeing the younger Hayes leaving.

Chris scanned the office once more, looking for anything, anything at all that could help and noticed a photo on the wall of Walker and the Old Man on a boat on the lake with Jeffery. Jeffery looked bored, but was smiling dutifully like any good son would. And beside it Walker and Kara laughing and happy looking at a father-daughter dance just last spring.

Chris took a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning away from the images and leaving the house. He had two more stops to make before he could call it done. Two more places to search before he could be sure who his family really was and it took him three more days to get the chance.

Ray and Charles shared a duplex just a few blocks from their Bakery, they were home, but that didn't stop him. He smiled when Ray opened the door and asked if they minded if he stayed the night, that he and Thorpe had had an argument and he couldn't take her hormone crazed ranting when he had a migraine going.

Charles sympathized and said he could crash in the office, Ray rolled his eyes and said he was going home. There was no point when he had an early morning.

Ray went up-stairs to his apartment with his girlfriend and Chris tried to ignore the giggling noises he heard through the ceiling while he waited for Charles and Madge to finish watching Rocky Horror and go do their thing already. He knew his brothers and like himself, once sex was on their minds nothing could deter them so he had no problem peeking in Charles' ledgers. It came as a relief to him, that it appeared Ray and Charles were innocent pawns, a font unwittingly laundering money for Walker's illicit activities. Chris let out a sigh, photocopying what he needed and lying awake all night, horrified, sick and trying to ignore the identical sounds of his brothers going at it with their identical girlfriends.

The next morning he left before Charles and Madge woke up, drove across town ignoring the few kids he saw with their Halloween costumes on hours early and banged on his parents' front door until Mom came down in her flowered kitten robe and fuzzy slippers to ask him what on earth was wrong.

"Is Dad up yet?"

"I dare say he is now with you making such a racket! Why couldn't you ever be nice and quiet, like your brothers—"

"Ma, I don't have time for this shit, where's dad! Go get him now and tell him to get his ass down here!" He shouted the last, hoping the old man heard it and came down on his own.

Irene blanched, as if offended by his language and the audacity of him to shout at her and darted up stairs.

Chris wandered aimlessly into the kitchen and dropped into a chair.

Palmer came down a few minutes later, scruffy cheeked and glaring.

Chris stood, not able to look his father in the eye and just said it; "Walker's been tampering with evidence… He was working with Borgia and I have proof."

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	10. Chapter 10

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**Chapter 10; Trouble Spelled 'Y-O-U'**

Shaun didn't like being told to wait. Wait was a four letter word where he was concerned and it caused him physical pain to be forced into it. He played his MMORPGs and went to watch Alice in a competition. Got drunk and smoked a few packs.

He teased Desmond mercilessly and had the idiot over every evening to go over what they had on the case and try, without Chris' help, to connect the dots.

There wasn't much. Even with Chris confirming their suspicions concerning Walker and Abbas, there was no closure. No physical evidence. They knew who, they knew vaguely why… but they had no proof.

The men who had already been arrested still presented no Alpha personality, even including Walker and Abbas. Desmond occasionally spoke discretely with Ezio on the phone, went over the other young man's statement multiple times yet it did nothing but make the young PI wish he were very very drunk on a beach somewhere with a bunch of bleach blonde Playboy Bunnies.

It came to a head quite suddenly one evening, late hiding away in the office. Altair, Ezio, Malik and Hadiya had gone out somewhere and it hadn't taken much to sneak in. Desmond had got very good at climbing the side of the building and slipping in through Altair's office window and Altair wouldn't think anything of the two of them being in the office if they came back soon.

It was nearly midnight and Desmond had refused, yet again, to let it go for the night. He was sitting in Altair's chair, slouched down and staring at that ugly painting Rebecca had sold Altair and thinking that it reminded him of the playground at his old school. The girls in their uniforms sliding down the fireman's pole, how sometimes, if he got close enough their skirts would fly up just enough that he'd be able to see their underpants. The one time he'd tried to slide down the thing, on a dare and busted his nose falling off, there had been a smear of blood on the ground beneath it and red spots on his uniform shirt.

Red spots on his shirt as that fat Borgia fuck had sliced and sliced through his face while the bald one held him still. The ugly bastard's erection rubbing at the back of Desmond's neck… How the sick creeps had touched him, the electric high buzz of that haphazard tattoo gun and all the blood on his khakis.

Desmond felt himself shaking and couldn't stop it. Even when he launched himself to his feet and started pacing, hands tangled in his hair, bouncing as he made his way the length of the room, past where Shaun was hunched over half of the file, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.

"This is pointless, Des."

"Shut up."

"We're not getting anywhere! There is nothing!"

"There is never nothing. There's always something, we just have to find it!"

"Oh, give it a rest!"

"We just have to look at it from a different angle…" He pulled at his hair a little harder.

Shaun squinted up at him in annoyance and exasperation; "If we look at it from any more angles we'll be defying physics!" He ground his teeth and took a steadying breath; "We are out of options. We can't do anything else! Unless Chris finds some little sliver of evidence we are dead in the water!"

"No we're not! We're close—We're on the verge of something here and—"

"Yes, we're on the verge of tearing one another's throats out!"

"It's there, Shaun. It's all right there and we just can't see it!"

"Oh, I can see it perfectly! There is a bad cop out there and if we keep poking and prodding at this—this bloody wound in the judicial system we're going to wind up dead! We can't do anything else without alerting him of our presence!"

"Meanwhile he's out there doing fuck knows, planning to take more kids!"

"Desmond, there is nothing we can DO. We have to wait for Chris to tell us what he's found! I don't like it any more than you do, but we can't just—just jump into this, can't just hand over what we've found knowing that he has control of the evidence and is tampering with it!"

"Then we take it to the feds!"

"Oh, yes, and who are the feds going to believe, a policeman with a clean record or two men playing Detective!" He rubbed his face tiredly; "Give it up, Desmond… You're not Sherlock Fucking Holmes, there is no magical way to deduce yourself out of this! We're stuck! We can't do anything unless we have hard SUBSTANTIAL evidence to expose him as a fraud, and even then we're likely to come under close scrutiny—You're likely to lose your license, my visa will be revoked—Altair could lose HIS license! Admit it! We are completely and royally fucked!"

Desmond wheeled around and kicked the waste basket beside Altair's desk, sending papers flying in every direction, then dropped into a crouch with his arms folded over his head, curled in on himself like a toad.

"We have to wait, Desmond… Chris will call. He'll tell us what he's found and we can go from there."

"We're running out of time, Shaun, what if these bastards come after Ezio?"

"We'll be careful. We… we'll watch out for him."

Desmond bit his lips and didn't voice the question that burned into existence behind his eyes; _Yeah, but who's gonna watch out for us?_

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	11. Chapter 11

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**Chapter 11; Live and Let Die**

Chris hated street duty. He hated his uniform and he hated that tingling, niggling sensation on the back of his neck that made him feel like he was being watched. Like some great winged beast was perched just out of sight in the darkness, waiting to swoop down and take a bite out of him.

He smiled at the parents and kids in costumes as they passed. Chased a few teenagers out of old buildings, arrested a drunk pissing on a mailbox. It was boring as hell and yet the whole night he felt that burning ITCH in the back of his mind.

"Hayes, how's your side doin'?"

He let out a sigh and pinched the talk button on his radio; "Smooth… Nothing much, just a few kids trying to toilet paper a house."

"Yeah, I did that a couple times before."

"Gotta get the arch right to get that nice streamer effect goin'. Backspin…"

"Just like basketball."

"Nah, fuck basketball, man. I played Hockey in school."

"Hockey? You take figure skating too?" A laugh.

"Ha-ha, Walker was the Basketball Star… Ray and Charlie played Baseball since Grade School… I just wanted to be different."

"What about your other brother?"

"Al?" Chris snorted; "He joined up, so that was that he was golden until he came out."

"That's rough… Think he'll go back in now that they repealed?"

"No… I think he's done with that scene."

"Yeah, smart move… Hey, me and a few guys from Affairs are goin' out for drinks after, you in?"

"Nah, I gotta get home, Thorpe's moody tonight."

A laugh; "Still can't believe you hooked her, man. You know how long we been tryin' to put a chink in that armor of hers."

"She's like a bulletproof vest, you can't. And we may be, ya know… but it kinda just… happened. I wasn't even tryin… Just got a few drinks in her and started talking about that bike of hers."

"The ninja?"

"Yeah," Chris grinned and took a deep breath; "Hey, man, hold that thought, I gotta open door I need to check out."

"Copy that."

Chris flicked the buckle from around his side arm and let his left hand hover over it as he turned on his maglight. "Police! Anyone in here?"

The inside of the building was dusty but otherwise vacant save a few collapsed cardboard boxes and some fresh shoe prints in the accumulated dirt. The air felt close, claustrophobic and hot even though he could see his breath before his face.

"Police! Is anyone home? This building is off limits and I urge anyone here to clear out immediately!"

A shadow shifted to his left and he had his firearm up before he even turned, "I warn you, I'm armed! Come out slowly with your hands where I can see them!"

"Hayes, you OK man?"

He shifted his light balancing it between his jaw and his shoulder and pinched the talk button again; "I've got a few possible—" His light jumped off his shoulder and that was the only indication that something was wrong. The room felt so empty suddenly and his ears were ringing, a dull sound like he had his head in a bell.

There was a flash of light and he saw his own shadow on the wall, something hot wedging itself into the base of his sinuses a strong, earthy taste filling his mouth. Like copper and dirt and tabasco sauce and the world dropped from beneath his feet.

His radio buzzed on his shoulder. High and alien sounding in the emptiness of the room. His light had rolled and was shining in his face. When had he hit the floor? What was going on? Something wet was leaking under his collar, under the side of his face and across the floor, his nose felt clogged, wet and running.

Jesus… Oh, Jesus what had happened!

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe but he could see. A shoe stepping over him, avoiding the blood, gripping the front of his coat and rolling him over, hands pulling and tearing at his clothes, rifling his pockets. His phone in a familiar stranger's hands, cursing, phone dropped, screen stained with blood now. Red and blue and gold… Thorpe's face and decorated stomach smeared with red.

"Where is it? You piece of shit, where is it!" Shaking him, choking… "Where the fuck did you put it!"

Chris stared up at him in confusion.

"Did you leave it with her? Does that slut have it!"

Chris can't breathe but part of him can still think, he can't remember his name, or the date or who this man is whose shaking him, but he knows what he's after because the pieces suddenly fit. He'd found the leak… He'd found the King of the Leaks. He knows now and he's not afraid. He smiles. Blood on his teeth and in his nose and running from his ear and the hole in his forehead and he laughs.

The man snarls and drops him. Looks up and around as if realizing what he's done and that there will be other policemen here at any second and Chris' vision goes gray and gummy and empty as the man flees. He can't hear anything, but he can feel someone. Can feel the floor vibrate with footfalls as someone comes running, feels pressure on his chest from hands. Familiar, gentle, safe hands. Not the familiar stranger who was searching him, he can't hear himself, but he feels himself speaking, a buzz in his throat like bees in a hive.

"Al… Altair… Tell him… Maria—" He can't swallow and can't speak anymore. Has to push the blood out of his mouth with his tongue so he can pull in one more breath; "Get her—get her safe… Call him… he has to know."

"Okay, okay I'm callin'! You—you're gonna be OK, Hayes! You're gonna be just fine! Gordon's gone for help, you're gonna be alright!" Bryan Knight doesn't believe a word he's saying but he says it anyway because you don't tell someone with a whole in their head that you don't know if they're gonna make it or not. You just don't. You lie and you keep them calm and you pray to every deity you can name that you're right because it's all you can do. His hands shake as he takes up Chris' phone, sticky and wet with the younger man's blood and dials. He's not thinking really, or else he wouldn't have done it but he knows Hayes. He knows Chris and there's a reason he wants Altair to get Maria to safety. For whatever reason, he has to tell Altair.

The phone rings and rings… and rings.

Nobody answers.

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	12. Chapter 12

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**Chapter 12; Blessed are The Meek**

Desmond feels ridiculous. Hopeless, ridiculous and terrified.

Shaun's apartment looks like the inside of the Tardis and it's awesome and Desmond wants to comment on it but he can't. He can't because Shaun looks like he's going to be sick.

"I'm sorry, Shaun."

"Shut up…" There is no bite to the redhead's words, and he stares at Desmond with no venom, just fear… stupid unabashed fear.

Desmond rubs his hands over his head and covers his mouth and stares at the meticulously painted cardboard Eli has pinned carefully up over the walls and windows and down at his feet. "What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know."

They're quiet for a long while more. There is laughing in the hallway and Eli comes stumbling through the door pulling Petruccio by his hand. They stop and stare and Eli looks ready to say something excitedly about Desmond's costume in correlation to her brother's, her own and Petruccio's but stops short with her brows pulled together. "What's happened?"

Desmond speaks up because he's afraid if Shaun opens his mouth he'll throw up. "The police officer Shaun and I were working with was shot."

Shaun mutters 'Fuck' under his breath and looks into the corner of the room.

Eli's mouth drops open and she stares at them; "You're joking… You have to be."

Desmond looks at the sweaty creases in his palms but can't make himself speak.

"W-what happens now?" Eli says, her voice high and borderline frantic.

"We damned well leave, is what happens," Shaun says coldly. "We're not safe here."

Eli's mouth drops open and the hand she's still got around Petruccio's clings tighter; "Like hell! I'm not going anywhere!"

"It's not your choice, Elisabeth—"

"It's never my choice!" She shouts. "You lie to me about mum—"

Shaun groans and tilts his head back; "Oh, don't bring that up again! She sold you to her dealer, Elisabeth! She wasn't worth the time!"

"She was our mum, Shaun!" There are tears in her eyes; "Our MUM and you didn't tell me she was dead until three weeks after it happened! You didn't even let me go to her fucking funeral! I-I had to learn about it from the goddamned solicitor!"

"I was trying to protect you! She SOLD YOU for drugs! She was going to let that man rape you for her next fix! She didn't care about you at all!"

Elisabeth's face turns white then quickly red again and she launches herself at her brother shouting, Petruccio catches her around the waist to hold her back; "I AM NOT LEAVING YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I'M NOT! You've dragged me away from my friends, my home and my COUNTRY not once, but THREE TIMES! And you expect me to just pick up AGAIN and _LEAVE? I HATE YOU! YOU WORTHLESS SACK OF SHIT, I HATE YOU!"_ There is a hint of horrified urgency in her voice Petruccio has never heard before and he folds her into his arms in hopes of calming her, whispering softly into her ear that it was OK, please stop screaming, it's OK!

For a minute it looks like she's going to fight him but instead she collapses in on herself and hides her face in his neck. She's not sure how he does it but somehow Petruccio Auditore gets under her skin in a way no one ever has. She doesn't have to be tough or raunchy, doesn't have to be ELI in front of him, she can just be herself, in all her cracked completely not-normal glory and he'll love her anyway. She lets him, just this once, lets him hold her and be the strong one and it doesn't hurt as much as she was afraid it would.

"We have to," Shaun says finally; "You don't have any idea what kind of mess we've got ourselves into but these men have killed to cover up what Chris knew and they won't stop to take us out as well… We've got to go."

Eli is quiet for a long while, letting Petruccio rock her softly back and forth before she speaks and there is surety in her voice and a finality that not even Shaun's logic can break down.

"I'm not leaving… I'm not going anywhere."

"Elisabeth—"

She lifts her head, eyes locked on her brothers and she's not defiant. Not in the slightest. This is her choice and she's made it. "No."

Shaun swallows, works his tongue around the inside of his mouth trying to find something scathing, something damning to say to her, but he can't and she knows it. He turns away and covers his face and tries not to notice when the two young people disappear again shutting themselves away in the bedroom and locking the door.

Desmond is the first to speak, after that concrete silence between brother and sister; "We have to get Thorpe out of here… If they've gone after Chris, they'll go after her too."

Shaun snuffs deeply and scrubs moisture from his eyes, then nods. "She'll be at the hospital."

"Where will we send her?"

"I don't know… We shouldn't know, just tell her to go somewhere far away… The less we know the better."

"But we already know too much."

Shaun lifted his hand in a sign of silence and let his breath out in a long whoosh; "We have to warn Altair and Ezio… They need to know."

"No," Desmond shook his head; "We have to get all our notes out of that office. They'll turn the place over, if they can't find anything they'll leave them alone… We have to destroy it, or hide it or something. Somewhere they'll never look… Then we have to either clear out in a hurry and hope they don't go after Ezio, or make sure they can't."

"What do you mean?"

Desmond rubbed his hands on his slacks and smiled broadly, it didn't reach his eyes; "We go in for the kill. Draw Walker out… Make him think we've got the evidence. Make him think we've got that picture. Make him desperate to silence us and catch him in the act."

Shaun blinks, startled and lowers his voice to a hiss; "Oh, don't be stupid! How are we going to do that? We have NOTHING! We don't have a bloody thing that could lure him out! He wants Ezio. For whatever fucked up reason he wants him and there is no way Altair would let us use him as bait! I wouldn't be able to do that to him!" Shaun thumped himself in the chest with pointed fingers. "I've read the reports—You've read them! What those bastards did to him… Could you even conceive of putting him in that position again? Even if it were a ruse? Especially after that god awful sting?"

Desmond meets his eyes evenly and for the first time Shaun sees the potential Desmond has, the blood chilling determination in the younger man's veins. "We won't have to."

"Oh?" Shaun taps his fingers against his arm, itching for a cigarette; "And what do you propose we do?"

"We set a trap."

"How?"

Desmond leans in close to him, meets Shaun's eyes and brushes the pad of his thumb over the scar on his lips; "By walking into one."

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	13. Chapter 13

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**Chapter 13; The Gay Umbrella**

"That has to be the gayest umbrella I've ever seen, Shaun."

Shaun was less than amused. "It's my sister's and the only one I had on hand, thank you… Her ferret completely destroyed the only proper one we owned."

The offending umbrella was a clear plastic thing that encapsulated one's head and shoulders like a bell, and seemed to be the only umbrella in existence save those tiny ones with cartoon characters on them that you bought for small children, that could only keep a single person dry in the rain.

"I hate ferrets." Desmond grumbled, scrounging in his Burger King bag and pulling out a sandwich that seemed to emulate its name. TRIPLE WHOPPER. A giant of a sandwich with more meat than should be strictly legal, charbroiled and slathered with mayonnaise, onion, ketchup, cheese and what Shaun was willing to bet was thousand island dressing, but God forbid he should say it aloud because Desmond would tell him he was full of shit.

"Why, the little whiskers get caught in your teeth?"

Desmond chomped into his burger and glared up at Shaun with his cheeks puffed out. "ewean acsh," He mumbled around his mouthful, Shaun had a sneaking suspicion he'd just been called an ass in ChubbyWubby and glanced out from under the blue and gold awning at the street.

It was dark, sometime past ten-thirty at night, raining cats and dogs, and of course, they were on foot. Since tailing this 'Patsy' of Desmond's, this mindless CHUD of a man who was supposed to be the key to this plan, this trap within a trap was completely impossible from the comfort of Shaun's Oldsmobile.

"Weasel gets twitchy, ya' see?" Desmond said, burger in one hand, bag dangling from his fingers, soda cup wedged between the bend of his elbow and his ribs, shoving greasy French fries in his mouth, squinting outward into what, to Shaun, was impenetrable darkness. He pointed with a fry at a corner two blocks down. "The address he gave me was to a bar down the street… He likes to hang around bars to see if he can steal half empty drinks or get dirt on people for blackmail."

"Couldn't we just drive? Even the train would suffice."

"It's just a little rain, you're not going to melt."

"Ha-ha… You're so funny."

Desmond grinned while he chewed, his expression aloof. "This is our only chance, Shaun… Mickey's a two-faced little shit, if he knows, or has any inkling as to Walker's game plan he's told him, told everybody probably… All we have to do is get a video recording, or even just a voice recording. Anything and we'll be home free. We just have to stay calm, put our nuts to the wind and hope for the best."

"This is insanity, Desmond. We're knowingly walking into a trap without backup!"

Desmond shook his head, "My phone has a GPS, so does yours… I also took the liberty of telling Mr. Auditore this…" He swallowed with some difficulty. "I mailed him our case notes. All of them with the express instructions that if something happens to me, or you or the both of us, he's to take them right to Altair and if something happens to Altair he's to go right to Agent Matheson, the guy we talked to on the phone and got his notes."

"Mr. Auditore? He's a banker, not a private investigator."

"I don't know, but he'll think of something. He's smart… Hell, maybe he's got mob connections," He attacked his burger again nervously. "If not, Matheson will take care of it."

Shaun scoffed; "You entrusted our fates to a banker who may, or may not have connections to the mob…"

"Uh-huh… Nobody would suspect it."

"Well, you've got that right, nobody would suspect it… Because it's STUPID!"

"It's not stupid," Desmond said, pulling his brows down seriously. "Mr. Auditore is scary smart."

"And you're just plain scary… Why am I trusting you with my life? You've got ketchup on your front," Shaun took one last mournful look at the sky through the umbrella muttered a disgusted; "Gyuh," And stepped from under the awning before he could change his mind, walking quickly toward the opposite side of the street.

"HEY! Wait up you prick!" Desmond darted out after him, all long legs and flapping jacket. Like a little kid running out to catch the school bus. He shoved himself in under the umbrella with Shaun, food held up high under his chin, wedging his drink under his arm.

"What are you doing? You've got a bloody coat on. With a HOOD! You—"

"I don't want my dinner getting all soggy!" He continued to chomp away like he was starving.

"God, you and your nervous eating!" Shaun wrinkled his nose and turned away from the almost stifling scent of onion and charbroiled meat.

So much damned meat…

"Well if you're going to take up my oxygen you're sharing your ruddy chips!" He poked his hand into the bag and pinched a few between forefinger and thumb, nibbling them as they walked. Appearing to be some sort of strange hunched together creature from nightmares.

Desmond didn't seem to be too offended by Shaun pilfering a few of his 'chips' he considered it fair trade for allowing him to hide under Shaun's gay umbrella.

"You'd better be glad we're not in Japan." Desmond said, watching the rain pound the clear plastic in front of his face. His voice was oddly amplified within it, the rain beating out a tattoo all around him.

"We're supposed to be quiet aren't we?" Shaun hissed at him. "Isn't that something Altair said in one of his pamphlets? The ones with the oh-so-colorful little drawings?"

Desmond ignored him; "In Japan if you share your umbrella with someone it means you're in love with them." He snorted and took another large chunk off with his teeth, it was too unsightly to be considered a bite. He merely opened his jaws wide like a baby bird and shoved the sandwich as far back between his teeth as he could manage without choking and chomped down like a guillotine, then proceeded to chew with his mouth open and ketchup on his chin.

Shaun refused to look at him, as amusing as it was. "No it doesn't."

A car drove past them, tires pulling up twin rooster tails of water from the street, back lights glowing a bloody red in the growing dark. Shaun felt exposed. Felt vulnerable.

"I've always wanted to see Japan. I like, went to a Japanese steakhouse with 'Becca and Lucy once." He sucked a bit of sauce from his thumb and continued, turning the remaining half of his burger in its wrapper to get at the outside edges of the bun. "I don't know what it was called… Hitachi… Hibashi—"

"Please be quiet, we're supposed to be working… What does this informant of yours look like?"

"—Anyway, they cooked the food right there in front of you. This guy, the cook, was flipping shrimp around. Flipped one right into 'Becca's mouth. It was incredible!"

Shaun imagined he heard the Jaws theme every time Desmond opened his mouth to inhale another portion of that ridiculously large burger.

_DUN—DUN—DUNDUN—**CHOMP!**_

He tried like hell to ignore the other young man, tried to focus on the world around him, but the smell of onions and water on pavement and the rabid pattering of rain on the umbrella, like the sounds of a thousand tiny little feet all stomping around on Shaun's brain made it practically impossible.

"—Remind me to take you to there some time. It's really awesome. You do karaoke?"

And something slammed into Shaun's right thigh, halfway between his hip and his knee. A hot hard jolt like he'd been kicked by a mule and his knee buckled, jerking him back half a step as he fell.

The pain isn't what made him cry out. It was the suddenness of it, the sheer 'What the fuck!' factor of being mid stride one second, to in pain to falling to the sidewalk the next.

Desmond's chips scattered in a puddle and what was left of his burger splatted into the gutter beside a parked car.

Desmond stumbled with him, head caught by the dome of the umbrella, face smeared on the plastic. He would have fallen as well if he hadn't been able to duck from under it.

"What the hell man!" He bent forward, staring in shock at his ruined dinner, and turned quickly, face scrunched up in anger, pushing his hearing aide back into proper position. "You owe me another burger you shit!"

Shaun couldn't catch his breath. His leg was on fire. Every beat of his heart fueled it, a hard hot stab of agony, it reminded him of the time he'd broken his arm when he was twelve jumping off the jungle gym onto Victoria Smyth's older brother. He rolled onto his side, drawing his leg up, gripping his pants.

Desmond growled and scuffed a hand through his hair; "Jesus, are you alright?" And just as he was leaning forward, bending to offer Shaun his hand—

The parked car behind him made an ominous sharp cracking noise, the windshield shattering with a near melodious tinkling noise.

Desmond dropped quickly into a crouch, hands up over his head, twisting to stare left and right, teeth bared, eyes wide. "What the fuck—"

And the next few seconds happened in a blur.

The car rattled again, windows breaking and a look of realization settled over Desmond's face. Eyes widening lips rolling back from his teeth in an animalistic way and he dove at Shaun, rolling with him toward a nearby building, managing to scramble and half drag the Brit around the corner and into an alleyway, yanking him along while he tried to run.

His voice came out in a hiss; "Fuckfuckfuck!" And Shaun found himself pressed against a wall, about twenty feet down the alley, heart hammering in his chest, staring at his hands in the scant light from the street, breath coming out in low moans between numb lips.

**_Blood… Blood-blood-blood!_**

Desmond was breathing quickly but steadily, fumbling in his pocket and yanking out his cell phone, dialing quickly; "Pick up, pick up—Altair— No, shut-up! S-someone's shooting at us! We're about two blocks east of the Burger King. We were going to go meet Mickey about the case and— I LIED OKAY! Look, I was trying to protect you, you ungrateful bastard! This shit doesn't just concern Ezio and you had no right to just shove it off on me! This is deep shit, man DEEP SHIT! There's a cop, Altair, a dirty cop—NO, SHUT UP! You can kick my ass la—Aw, shit… Shaun? Shaun don't look at it."

Desmond shoved his hands away from the hole in his trousers and pressed himself close to Shaun's front, free hand tightening around his jaw, forcing him to meet those dark eyes of his. "Just look at me, don't think about it!" And his hand disappeared, trailing quickly across Shaun's chest and torso checking for other wounds then down to his leg.

Shaun could hear Altair through the phone. Deep angry tones; "Get the HELL out of there, Des!"

Desmond's arm slid under Shaun's, around his back, and suddenly they were running again.

The alley took them deeper into what at first seemed to be nothing. Just a twisting labyrinth of wet brick and slimy concrete, but Desmond seemed to know where he was going. Shaun just kept his teeth grit, one hand clutching his leg, mind trying to survive those agonizing stabs of pain when he'd have to put weight on his right foot to continue onward.

He tried not to think about the fact he'd just been shot. Tried not to think about the fact somebody was _shooting_ at them just like he'd been afraid they would. But they just kept zipping across the forefront of his mind along with images of his sister, sitting on the couch watching National Geographic, ignoring her homework, her boneless sleeping ferret hanging out the front of her hoodie like a dead thing with a piece of popcorn clutched in its little claws, listless and furious with him.

Would she be alright without him? Who would take care of her? She wasn't eighteen yet.

And FUCK his leg hurt like the very spiteful fires of _hell!_

He closed his eyes tightly to keep the world from spinning off its axis, his breath heaving in his chest, ears ringing. His skin felt oddly numb and tingly, the rain hot on his flesh. Sometime while running his mouth had fallen open and rain was flowing in and out again, making it look like he was drooling. Maybe he was drooling. He was pretty sure he was going into shock, so who was to say he wasn't drooling?

_That's revolting…_

And suddenly they were on the street again. Running along the sidewalk, and Shaun recognized the building about four blocks ahead of them.

_He was fucking serious when he said I owed him a new burger, wasn't he… The stupid bastard._

Desmond was chanting at him, phone still pressed into his ear; "Hang on, just hang on a little longer, Shaun, we're almost there."

Hang on to what? The grip on his leg got tighter, and he fisted the hood of Desmond's coat in his other hand. God but this plan was utter shit. "You… never making plans again. NEVER!"

His leg wasn't working right by this point, everything south of the wound having lost all muscle strength, his foot dragging, scuffing the side of his lovely designer boot, but oddly it didn't matter as much to him at the moment as he knew it would later.

Car tires screeched behind them and suddenly Shaun could see his own shadow in the rain. Stretching long and dark in front of him looking oddly zombie like the way it bobbed around all disjointed, and Desmond's cursing reached a new and frightening octave.

"Oh shit, oh SHIT! OH _SHIT!" _

Their shadows were moving faster than they were, and the whine of the car's engine was getting louder, faster.

Altair was screaming on the other end of the phone in Arabic and Desmond was shouting back at him to shut up, just shut up and get some fucking help!

It happened in half a second. Half a second Shaun would never forget.

He would later swear he could feel the heat off the car's grille against the backs of his knees, swear it had been so close to hitting him he'd left a skid mark on the hood, but suddenly he was air born. Desmond having given him a violent shove to the side, out of harm's way.

The world tumbled above him in a smear of headlights, rain clouds and store fronts, and Shaun landed hard on his back, rolling and turning his head quickly enough to see Desmond take a leap, plant a foot on a parking meter and launch himself into the air, knees tucked up under his ears, arms out, coat flapping like wings.

The car shot clean under him, taking out two—three-four more parking meters in a spray of silver coinage before coming to a watery, screeching halt in the gutter.

Desmond landed in a crouch, left hand sliding across the pavement, over his shoe and up his leg with smooth purpose.

Suddenly there was a knife in his hand. A rather long, wicked looking knife that fit right into his palm as if it had been made there.

Three men piled out of the car seeming to just appear in a sprint. They were dressed in black with hoods drawn up over their heads, hiding their features in shadow. One of the three came right at Shaun, something in his hand, drawing back and—

It was a solid blow, hard and unforgiving against the side of his head. He rolled with it, stunned, feeling his consciousness as a dim candle in his mind and for a few seconds the world swam in black.

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	14. Chapter 14

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**Chapter 14; The Knights Hospitaler**

His glasses were broken. He could see a jagged lightning bolt of a cracked lens through eyes that hadn't closed when he'd hit the pavement. Everything was tilted ninety degrees. Desmond looking as if he were standing outward from the wall.

Rain splattered against the side of his face and distantly he was aware that Desmond was fighting. Practiced feints and blocks.

It was oddly like a ballet, and in his head Shaun heard muffled music conjured most likely from the concussion. A string quartet playing something eerie like music from a horror movie. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Desmond kept his fists at the ready, knife held in a reverse grip, he sliced at one man, kicked at another, his whole body transformed into a deadly weapon, trailing water like feathers on an exotic bird.

He seemed to be pulling his punches, not wanting to actually kill one of the men attacking him, but definitely injure them enough to make them think twice.

He took a hit to the ribs, followed the movement, and slammed his elbow into the man's face. Kick, slice, duck, punch. Shaun felt distantly proud that Desmond was mimicking a few jujitsu moves he'd actually used on the young PI. It made him feel a little better at least.

Desmond almost seemed to move in waves. One man down, crawling away holding his ribs, nose broken and bleeding profusely. Maybe they had a chance. Maybe Desmond would get away from them and they could finally confide in Altair as they had tried to do the night Chris died the night everything had gone to hell.

The second man pulled a knife, thrusting quickly toward Desmond's middle. Bouncing back like a dog after a ball or a boxer in a ring. The movements seemed clumsy, bumbling… Flashy.

And Desmond was easily distracted by flashy th—

Shaun tried to shout, tried to warn him, but he couldn't move. His mouth just opened and closed uselessly, the cold rain beating down on him, running into his ear and mouth.

The man who had clubbed him was rushing Desmond… And the weapon in his hands wasn't a gun, wasn't a knife…

It was an aluminum baseball bat.

He swung like he'd played in the major leagues. His upper body following it.

Desmond only had half a second between seeing the glint of wet metal and the impact. He made half a turn, which Shaun would later assume saved Desmond from a lifetime paralyzed from the waist down, but that would be after this… months away and all that went through Shaun's head at that moment was; 'Fuck that's going to hurt!'

Shaun could practically feel the blow, a wall like thing catching Desmond not in the head, or the chest, but in his left hip.

It happened instantly and Desmond was on the ground, knife skittering away in the street, but the sound seemed to echo. Playing over and over and over in Shaun's head. A wet, sick crunching noise, and a metallic ringing like the bastard had hit a home run.

Shaun thought, at first, that everything was OK, that Desmond was just faking it, but then the two men descended on him, grabbing him by the front of his jacket and dragging him toward their car.

Desmond's mouth came open and his hands clawed. And Shaun knew he was hurt. Knew he was hurt without even having to see that the younger man's left hip was mangled. That where before bone had jutted outward there was now a deep bloody dent.

Shaun knew because Desmond was quiet. And Desmond was never quiet unless there was something very wrong.

They threw him into the car and rushed back, hands out and fingers curled like monstrous claws.

Shaun tried to twist away from them, but his head swam and everything went black for a few seconds. Long enough for them to drag him to the car and toss him in also.

Lights flipped by the window in dazzling, blinding blurs, smeared and shattered by the rain.

Shaun found his face even with Desmond's ribs, could hear him breathing, whining and shivering. He made himself move, twisted, ignoring his own pain long enough to get his fingers in the younger man's hair, hoping to offer some kind of comfort that it would be OK, even if he knew it was a lie.

He wasn't sure how long they were in the car, or how far it drove. The next second it seemed they were stopping and he was being pulled out, falling and hanging between two of their attackers and letting the assholes drag him. He vaguely remembered doing something similar when he was a child and hadn't wanted to do as his parents had said, so he'd just gone limp and laid down in the middle of the supermarket and refused to move.

He figured he could have walked. Even if his right leg did feel like someone had rammed a lightning bolt through it and he felt weak from blood loss. He just wanted to make these bastards' jobs a little harder, so he played dead.

He was dragged up a staircase, the hard edges scraping his shins through his slacks, through what looked like an abandoned factory or something. Everything looked dilapidated. Chunks of plaster littered the floor, torn soiled paper, a smell like stale urine and old fungus.

Halfway up the stairs he heard a scream behind him. It was unlike anything he'd ever heard before.

No actor in any movie or TV drama he'd seen had ever sounded like that screaming in pain. This was something wholly new and frightening.

"Fuck, what'd you do to him! The boss isn't gonna be happy about this! He'll take it outta your hide!"

Shaun found himself dragged through what looked like an office, there was an old TV on the desk attached to a DVD player and a blonde man in a black Italian business suit was watching I Love Lucy while he cleaned a large caliber handgun. He glanced up as the two men dragged Shaun by.

"Who the fuck is that?"

"Breakfast."

The man in the suit leered at him in a way that was distinctly unpleasant and made Shaun sick to his stomach.

And then as he was carried into the room Desmond screamed again and the man at the desk was on his feet, glaring hatefully and shouting in shrill German.

Shaun didn't understand any of it, but he assumed the loud little man was not very happy that the young PI had been hurt.

He found himself, a few breaths later, dropped into a corner and seemingly forgotten while the loud blonde ordered the other men about and Desmond was pushed flat across the desk, his jeans rather uncaringly cut off with a large pair of scissors, his underwear shoved down low enough that he was barely covered and his injury prodded by firm unfriendly hands.

Shaun had to shut his eyes and grind his teeth against a groan of terror at the sight of the wound. Bruising that had already turned dark black purple around a 'U' shaped tear in the skin, his jeans and underwear were soaked with blood, and a red stain was spreading up over the lower side of his jacket. Both hands, where they grabbed and flailed and scratched were caked with gore and what looked like vomit.

The blonde stood up suddenly and grabbed the man who'd wielded the baseball bat by the hair, shaking him. "Do you know what you've done! You imbecile!" He pronounced it 'eem-bee-cile'. "Do you know how much he's worth! More than you'll ever see in your life!" He shook the man then jerked his head down and bashed his face against the back of a chair. "He is the last—The ONLY Untouched piece of Borgia's Menagerie! And you've—You've—" He screamed, grabbed the man's hair with both hands and started smashing his head into the edge of the desk like an enraged toddler breaking its toys. The other thugs tried to stop him but the damage had already been done.

While he was no longer pinned Desmond tried to roll away, grabbing for anything he could use as a weapon. He was disturbingly pale, so much so he appeared almost translucent and his brow was beaded with sweat.

Shaun moved slowly, hands shaking and praying he wasn't noticed while the men tried to stop the angry blonde from killing their friend, slipped his phone from his pocket, gagging because it was wet with his blood, and turned it on.

His sister had told him he was insane for buying it, a nine-hundred dollar calculator she'd called it, and practically said he was an idiot for downloading the 'ridiculous' apps like Twitter, Facebook, an app that turned the phone into a ghost detector, one that could identify a song simply by recording a few seconds of it heard over a speaker… and a locator app that showed your friends as little colored arrow points in relation to you on a map.

He'd done it on a whim to be truthful, so he would be able to watch his sister through the day and make sure she wasn't doing things she shouldn't be with the little Auditore brat, accidentally told Desmond about it and after he'd got back from the bathroom had found two new people on his map.

Altair and Desmond.

He felt blessed to have it now. Utterly and completely blessed, because when he slid his phone out of sight behind the ratty couch he'd been dropped beside, Altair's little arrow was moving.

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The little blonde man was pacing back and forth now, waving his gun around and cursing. And the thug whose head he'd bashed in on the desk was lying in a pool of his own blood twitching every few seconds as he slowly choked on his own brain tissue.

Two of the other men who'd been in the office were hovering over Desmond again, one wrestling with his arms, trying to pin them down and keep a hand over his mouth while the other was prodding his hip and gripping his leg as if maybe the man thought the young PI's hip was merely dislocated and if he shifted and shoved on it enough it would pop back into place and everything would be alright again.

Shaun didn't know what they were doing to him, but watching them, and hearing Desmond screaming behind that asshole's hand made the nausea from his concussion as well as from the blood loss build. His chest feeling tighter and tighter, he didn't know how much longer he could lay there playing dead like this.

"What do we do? The Collector will be here any minute… How do we explain this!"

The blonde growled, fingers tangled in his hair and turned on them; "SHUT UP! I'm trying to think! The bastard won't pay if he knows he's been damaged! He'll likely kill us all over it!"

The thug at Desmond's hip jerked his chin toward Shaun; "Give him that one as an apology and pray this can be fixed!" He dug his fingers mercilessly into the young PI's thigh, ignoring the muffled howl he got in return.

"No, The Old Man needs him, seems the little Bastard has information that shouldn't have been leaked… Not much worse than having to take out one of your own to protect your legacy," The blonde rubbed a hand through his hair and cursed loudly, violently sneering at someone near the door; "This is your fault! If you had just stuck to the plan—"

"MY FAULT! You told me you only wanted _him!"_ The fourth thug, who had been leaning seemingly invisibly in the corner raised his voice and pointed right at Desmond; "I thought the other one was that Arab bastard! The one who fucked it up last time! AND at the bar! I wasn't going to let it happen again!" Then he pointed right at the blonde. "I was just doing what I was told to do! Take out that fucking Arab shit if he got in the way again! I thought he was there so I took a shot at him! If you've got a problem with it, you take it up with The Boss! Speaking of which, I think he's gonna be pretty interested to hear what you did to Mickey there." He motioned to the man in the floor. "The bastard may have been a fink but he was still gold in The Boss' eyes."

"I'm not paying you!" The blonde roared.

And suddenly the forth thug had a gun trained on the blonde, backing him against the wall. "Like hell you're not paying! We got him didn't we? Now give me the fucking money or some cop is gonna have a really good night… three internationally wanted sex criminals taken down in one go. Imagine that headline!"

The blonde growled like an animal and pulled a second handgun, identical to the one he'd been cleaning, from inside his jacket, pointing it at the man before him. He barked something in German. Shaun didn't know what he'd said, but it seemed to put the fear of God in the thug because he took a step backward. Half a breath later he advanced again, but before he could open his mouth there was another voice.

"What in God's name is going on here!"

There was a man standing in the doorway. His hair was white, cropped close to his head, and he had a slight beard. Rather innocent looking, just like any aging business man you'd meet on the street, he was wearing a slate gray suit and carrying a small duffle bag like you would expect someone who frequented a gym to have.

Shaun was opening his mouth to shout at the man to call the police that they'd been attacked. That Desmond was hurt and he himself had been shot and was probably bleeding to death as they just stood there like idiots gaping at one another.

The blonde dropped his weapon to his side and his back went ramrod straight. "W-we weren't expecting you so soon."

The older man turned and looked at him with an expression of hidden joy, then his eyes landed on Desmond and the joy bled out of his eyes, leaving behind something shocked, horrified… And angry.

"You found my missing boy I see… But what the hell am I supposed to do now that you've broken him?"

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	15. Chapter 15

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**Chapter 15; The Untouched**

The blonde seemed to give a little shiver and he waved his gun at the thugs holding Desmond down. "It is their fault." He pointed to the man he'd attacked earlier; "He is the one who caused the injury." And the gun went to the forth thug again, the one who'd apparently been shooting at them. "And he is responsible for alerting him of their presence. If he had not started shooting at them the pickup would have gone off just as it had ten years ago, without incident!"

"Oh, last time was without incident? Then perhaps I should congratulate you for getting this one for me at all!"

The blonde flinched.

"You are an idiot, all of you are completely incompetent! Get out of my sight before I decide you're worth more to me as a boat anchor!"

The blonde seemed hesitant, as if he had more to say, even while the other men took slow steps back, and fled.

"Sir, about the payment—"

And that peaceful, innocent exterior seemed to be peeled back like thin wallpaper. His face contorted, his eyes widened and his brows curled like horns; "OUT!"

The blonde stood his ground for all of four seconds, then darted out the door. He must have tripped going down the stairs because he released a startled cry and there was a series of thuds, and a moment later more shoes cracked against the floor as he ran.

Desmond was making weak, desperate noises, pushing himself up and reaching for something

Shaun couldn't see behind the desk.

In his mind Desmond was chanting over and over and over, _this can't be real, it isn't happening. It's a dream. It's all a dream._ He'd just fallen asleep watching gangster movies and was having a nightmare that had to be it… But, why then couldn't he wake up? If he was dreaming, why couldn't he get up and run away? If he was dreaming why did he hurt so much?

He didn't hear the footsteps behind him until a hand clamped down on his forearm and pulled it back, away from the shotgun lying in the floor just two inches from his grip. He was turned, his hip and leg exploding, the pain blinding him. His ears popped and he was aware of pressure, someone gripping his jaw, squeezing and a frighteningly familiar voice;

"Hello, Mr. Miles."

His eyes flew open and he stared in shock at the man bending over him, smiling in a disturbingly jolly way. For half a second Borgia's face was superimposed over this man's and Desmond felt eleven years old again. Frantic, horrified, but then the face changed, and he recognized the man not as Rodrigo, but as Gadil's science teacher. "M-mr. Vidic… H-help, please. Please help." He swallowed a wave of nausea that tore through his middle and threatened to send him into another bout of dry heaves. "P-please c-call an ambulance. C-call the cops… Somebody, please, call somebody."

He was so relieved, Mr. Vidic was a doctor he could help. Everything would be OK again. It was over.

Vidic's smile widened and he patted Desmond's cheek. "No… I don't think I can do that."

"W-what? Why? Please, I—I'm… Please, it hurts."

And he saw Vidic's pupils widen and the old man looked down between them. "Oh, yes… I can see that." His smile was dazzling. "Do you know anything about the human body, Mr. Miles?"

"W-what? No n-no, please. Please c-call someone—"

The hand gripping Desmond's jaw relaxed a little, sliding down his chest and Desmond just watched him, his mind a blank slate of confusion a slick greasy feeling building in his middle, threatening to make him vomit again.

"The human body is a masterpiece… The pinnacle of Evolution… Absolute perfection… Human beings are not limited by their environment, we conquer it, remake it in our own image… And yet can ourselves be undone by something as simple as water, as wind, cold and heat. It's mind boggling…" He trailed a finger over the bloody expanse of Desmond's stomach; "Truly stunning, though, are the nerves… The world is experienced simply and solely by nerves, did you know that? If you had none, you would be completely blind, deaf, mute and desensitized. A bundle of meat and water… Without nerves man's brain would not have advanced to its current complexity. Your brain has to adapt every day just to process everything your nerves tell it. It has to take leaps and bounds and try futilely to translate the truth of the world into sensation you can understand. Did you know that?" He smiled, the expression somehow dark in its benevolent kindness. Like a wizened bright eyed Santa that would just as happily and readily douse your house in gasoline and drop a lit match down your chimney as he would leave you gifts under your tree.

"Sometimes, the brain becomes so over stimulated, so inundated by what your nerves are saying that it shuts down completely… Some people call it bliss. In the Kama Sutra it's called Nirvana… I call it The Face of God." He took a slow, shuddering breath and let it out in a pleased hum. "Why don't I show it to you? Would you like that?"

Desmond's head was shaking back and forth, his mind stuttering and shuddering as he struggled to stay conscious, struggled to comprehend that Mr. Vidic wasn't going to call the cops… that he wasn't there to help at all.

"I'm afraid you're not going to enjoy this at first, Mr. Miles… But don't worry. I will. I'll enjoy this very much I believe."

And to Shaun, everything seemed so horrifically clear in that moment.

The Collector he'd heard Ezio talking about, that horrible brute of a sadist. That King of all religious whackos, the man who wanted to own everyone marked by Borgia's hand, was standing right there and he intended to do ugly unspeakable things to Desmond.

And suddenly Shaun was done playing dead.

His heart thudded, adrenaline shot through his veins like a drug, and before he even knew what he was doing he was on his feet, stumbling and grabbing and snarling like a rabid bull terrier. He attacked that fat little bastard with a strength he didn't know he had.

Vidic looked horrified for a few moments, startled because nobody had ever fought him back like this before. They'd all cried and begged and pleaded with him, but they'd never physically fought back before, not with such effectiveness.

He didn't like it one bit.

And then Shaun slipped in a puddle of gore from the man the blonde had beaten to death, and he fell hard onto his injured right leg.

Everything went black for a few seconds, and when he regained himself Vidic was on him, snapping a handcuff around his wrist and securing him to the rusted radiator in the corner.

Shaun cursed, foul bitter disgusting words coming out of his mouth that had Desmond not been struggling to reach that shotgun, fighting to pull it upward and blast the old pervert, he may have been impressed.

Shaun fought, grabbing and pulling at the Collector hoping to distract him long enough, cheering inside when Desmond managed to get the gun up.

And Vidic kicked Shaun hard in the chest and turned, face twisted into a hateful snarl eyes locked on the end of the gun and—

_Click…_

The old man flinched, glanced down at his chest then roared, grabbed the gun away from Desmond and threw it to the opposite end of the room, his arm arching, landing a solid teeth jarring blow to the young man's mouth and nose, blood splattered and his scarred upper lip split open again.

Vidic tangled his fingers in Desmond's hair and jerked his head back at a sharp, rough angle, his throat stretched too far, choking him, "That," He narrowed his eyes, finger shaking as he leveled it in the young man's line of sight, so much like a teacher, voice calm, eyes wide and bloodshot with rage; "was a mistake."

Shaun pulled and twisted, trying to get his hand free, his eyes focused on that gun lying so innocently and perfectly beside the door. If he could only stretch himself just a little farther, if he could just get that thing he'd be able to end it. He could get that sicko away from Desmond. He turned his eyes toward the younger man and was met with a horrific sight. Something that made his blood freeze in his veins and his heart lurch in his chest.

Vidic had Desmond by the throat with one hand and the young man's face was turning purple beneath the growing bruises and blood, his fingers clawing weakly at the Collector's wrist. And the old man was pulling at the front of his pants with the other hand.

For the next fifteen seconds Shaun couldn't move. He was petrified, turned to stone. Appalled and terrified of what he was seeing.

Desmond's eyes rolled up to the whites and his hands twitched and clawed at the older man—

Vidic's smile became something entirely unpleasant and his hand sprang open, Desmond inhaled, a whooshing, gasping tearing sound, and the old bastard pushed him onto his face across the desk.

"I had planned on doing this slowly. Showing you new levels of sensation, allowing you to glimpse the closest to God you will ever come… but you're just so eager, aren't you, so _greedy_—" His free hand came up and grabbed Desmond's left wrist, twisting his arm behind his back for leverage. "This is what you were made for… Mr. Miles… It's what evolution and God Almighty formed you to be… "

It was a terrible thing, Shaun found himself witness to. Something natural twisted and warped and demented by greed and hatred, a weak man with delusions of power and greatness asserting his inflated pathetic ego over another.

The very foundations of everything Shaun had believed about himself and the world around him were shaken and he wondered, for the first time in his life, if maybe humanity was unworthy of being saved. If maybe everyone deserved burn in hell simply for allowing men to condone such an act, for basing governments and faith on such despicable evil.

He understood, in that moment, why some people walked into city squares, doused themselves with kerosene and lit a match. It was a vain desperate demand for attention, hoping praying that SOMEONE would see and realize there was something desperately wrong with the world. That maybe, maybe enough people would see and understand and they would be able to do something to stop the madness. If doing so right then would have stopped what that hateful old man was doing to Desmond, Shaun would have. Would have gladly set flame to himself to save the younger man from what he was experiencing. But in that same moment he knew martyring himself wouldn't have helped, even if his heart screamed that something, anything had to be done, that this couldn't continue. Because he knew that this had been happening longer than he could ever imagine. Rape was the oldest tradition known to man, older than religion, older than the social caste, older than love, law and time itself. If you want it and it is not given to you… _take_ it.

Ape did not become man the day he came down from the trees to defend himself. Ape became man, that unholy spiteful creature, the day he took the body of one who had refused him affection.

Shaun wanted to turn back time, wanted to go back to the Burger King when he and Desmond were standing there under the awning and the younger man had been making fun of the umbrella, and just stand there. Wait until Desmond had finished eating and then demand that they go to Altair immediately, that they abandon this stupid futile plan and come clean to the older PI. If he'd tried hard enough he could have convinced him… But he'd wanted to get that evidence just as much, had wanted to prove himself to Altair just as badly. Had wanted closure just as desperately…

Now they were both paying for it.

He couldn't look away, even as he thrashed and kicked and pleaded with Vidic to please stop, please just leave Desmond alone. "Me, you can do whatever you want to_ me_—ANYTHING— just stop it! Leave him alone!"

But that didn't work… It seemed to make the older man worse. His thrusts more brutal, the grip against the back of Desmond's neck bruising, leaving gagged bleeding crescents from the bastard's fingernails.

Blood was running down the insides of the younger man's thighs and at every inward push he made a choked screaming noise and his hand scratched at the edge of the desk, trying to crawl away.

Shaun saw a demon in Vidic's face. A primal, ugly beast of a thing with no heart and a mind honed only for lust and causing misery to others. He wanted to kill this thing. Wanted to put it down so it couldn't hurt anybody else. Like a mad dog that had mauled a child… Shaun wanted to go a little mad himself and rid the world of this monster named Warren Vidic.

Shaun had spent the entire time he'd known Desmond being spiteful and rude to the younger man. Had teased and berated him, humiliated and degraded him. Even gotten into a few fights with him… But he'd never wanted to hurt him. He didn't ever want to see Desmond hurt… And this evil old man was doing just that, was HURTING Desmond right there, not ten feet away and Shaun felt all of it like a stab to his chest.

No matter how hard he fought that cuff around his wrist, or how he shouted threats and curses at the Collector. Or even that he'd dislocated his shoulder again, stretching toward that gun, anything he could use to get that freak away from the young PI, but there was nothing. He could do nothing, and that horrid sound of flesh on flesh and Desmond's cries…

It couldn't be happening. It was too horrible, too brutal and disgusting… It was the stuff of Shaun's nightmares, and he couldn't do a damned thing to stop it.

So, instead he screamed.

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	16. Chapter 16

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**Chapter 16; Captain Hook**

The pain wasn't really the worst part of it, it was the fact he could hear the bastard's every breath, could hear the horrible, inhuman things he whispered behind his ear… It was the fact he could **hear** the old man grunting and the wet slap accompanying every brutal, fast thrust against his body.

He figured, somewhere far back in his mind, that if he didn't have to hear it he may be able to survive this… It wouldn't be as bad if he didn't have to hear it.

He supposed that he was going into shock or that Vidic had broken his back because even though he was in agony he wasn't focused on the pain but the thought that this had to end sometime. It had to be over sooner or later and if he could just hold on, just survive a little longer it would be over and everything would be OK again.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Shaun screaming and wondered who was bothering him. He really wished they'd stop because Shaun was hard enough to be around when he wasn't annoyed, and considering what was happening to him, he didn't think he'd be able to handle a pissed off Shaun too…

Everything had become small and meaningless around him, and his chest was burning. The only thing he was aware of was the sound and that was even starting to become distant and garbled.

Someone was screaming, an angry shrill sound like a cat on the attack, Vidic was growling into the back of his neck, and there was excruciating pressure on his genitals, like maybe they were stuck in a vice or something. There was a final, hard shove from behind him and the next second he was falling.

The floor felt cool like water and he didn't feel the impact, didn't feel anything really that happened after that, didn't really care because something told him it was finally over.

It was over.

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Shaun knew something was wrong when Vidic's hand came away from the back of Desmond's neck and went beneath the young man's hips to pull and squeeze and try frantically to draw some kind of life into the flesh there.

Shaun knew something was wrong because Desmond didn't move, didn't even so much as make a sound, and he was struck again by the horror of that silence.

Vidic finally seemed to give up, cursing loudly and fell silent, hips working quickly.

Shaun stopped screaming long enough to turn his head and be sick when he realized he could see the old bastard's dick moving in and out and it was red with Desmond's blood. He couldn't raise his head again to continue his wailing there wasn't a point. That electric buzz that had always been present in his stomach when Desmond was nearby was gone, replaced by a sick hollow feeling that the younger man wasn't going to survive this, that even now Desmond was dead, a heart attack from the severity of the pain, or even some hideous internal injury…

He only raised his head when he heard the Collector finish, a prolonged groaning sigh, and the slap of skin ceased.

Vidic stepped back, blood staining his crotch and upper thighs, a rather dispassionate disgusted look on his face as he watched Desmond's knees buckle and his body thud lifelessly to the floor on his injured hip.

Shaun stared, feeling oddly numb inside, sickened when he realized Desmond was breathing shallowly through bloody parted lips, eyes closed, brows raised slightly in relief on his waxy face.

Shaun stretched out, caught the young PI by the hood of his ruined jacket and pulled at him possessively, wincing when he finally got the other man close enough to draw to his chest, arm tight and protective around bruised shoulders, staring down through dilated eyes at what had, merely an hour ago, been a loudmouthed man who was too energetic for his own good, now a pallid, broken husk of humanity.

Desmond's head fell limply backward over Shaun's arm, his throat bruised and swelling and vulnerable looking so close to breaking. He was utterly lifeless and Shaun could feel his heart hammering erratically, too fast, the rhythm halting and unnatural.

Shaun took slow deep breaths, feeling himself shake, and pushed it away, drawing the younger man close enough to hide his face in Desmond's sweaty hair, counting backward from one hundred and letting everything around him fade back until there was nothing but his thoughts.

The Captain, The German, The Collector, The Snitch…

He knew he was most likely about to die, he'd seen The Collector's face, seen The German's face. He'd seen the remaining men's faces. He was now a liability, he and Desmond. It was unlikely the Collector would allow him to live, but strangely, Shaun wasn't afraid.

Vidic was humming from the corner as he cleaned himself up, unzipping his gym bag and laying out an array of things. A towel, a change of clothes, deodorant, a compact Smith and Wesson handgun—No, Shaun wasn't going to be making it home to his sister… He hoped she would be alright. Hoped she and Petruccio had a happy and uneventful life together. Hoped they traveled and saw the world and had a dozen children that drove them crazy and filled them with pride, and that maybe one day, she would forgive him about their mother's funeral so his spirit would find peace… wherever he was about to go.

He hoped Altair caught this bastard, hoped that Altair was able to see what he and Desmond hadn't been able to and stopped him before he hurt anybody else.

Shaun hoped mostly though, that Desmond was unconscious so he didn't have to see it, so he didn't die in pain. He felt his jaws popping, teeth bared like a rabid animal; "I'll kill you… You despicable bastard. I'll kill you for this."

Vidic had a box of wet wipes open out of his gym bag and was calmly cleaning himself, a cigarette perched and smoldering between his lips. He lifted his eyes, peering through his lashes and smiled; "Is that so?"

"You won't get away with this, He'll make sure of it."

Vidic smiled, so kindly, "Who? Your PI friend? Altair, is it? Oh, don't worry, he's being taken care of as we speak. He and that little lost lamb of mine…Oh, now, don't look so surprised, you're the one who pointed out the problem to us," He chuckled and leaned his hip against the desk, staring down at Shaun like some lecturing professor, the sight somehow absurd with the old man's genitals still stained and exposed. "If you two hadn't sent that letter to Sergeant Hayes we never would have realized how close you were… Thank you for that by the way."

Shaun felt sick and ground his teeth but didn't say anything. Vidic was just trying to goad him, trying to make him angry, trying to hurt him… It wouldn't work… he wouldn't let it.

"The problem was the poor departed Sergeant though… You see, he wasn't a very good sergeant, didn't like taking orders and he stuck his nose where he shouldn't have. Too bad for him, but sometimes it's best to put a mad dog down."

Vidic chuckled and exhaled a cloud of smoke wafting it away with a gently curled palm. He stubbed out the cigarette on a smear of blood decorating the desktop; "Now, what do you say we have a little… chat, Mr. Hastings… I hear you're an educated man, or like to tell yourself that anyway, so enlighten me… How much blood can an average man lose before he dies?"

Shaun's jaw tightened.

"No?" He sighed, "What a pity… The correct answer is five pints—How much blood, Mr. Hastings, by minute, would you say you're losing through that leg of yours? How much have you already lost? How quickly is your heart beating right now? Pushing and pushing and pushing the last drops of your life away… Can you feel it? Can you feel the seconds ticking out of your very veins?"

Vidic lit another cigarette and puffed at it happily his voice almost melodic as he sang, twitching his fingers in time, "Tic-tock-tick-toc, goes the croc, Mr. Hastings…It looks like Peter Pan won't be making it home for tea."

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_NOTE;_

_And this is the end of Men That Fly With Capes… The story will now re-converge with Fast Cars for the final few chapters. I didn't want to put this directly into Fast Cars simply because of the rape scene. Fast Cars deals with rape and its aftermath but it's not mentioned or portrayed explicitly and I didn't want to change that, it would have changed the entire tone of the story, so I kind of had to branch this off into its own thing because the ugliness of it had to be told… If I ever do a master fic for this I'll probably work it in, but for I couldn't make myself do that… Sorry._

_OZ_

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	17. Chapter 17

WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN OZ!

I have literally had the very life stolen from my veins by a despicable man who should not have been trusted.

Charlie, former Hubby and cheating scumbag left me and recently tried to take Steve away. He almost succeeded completely, but I've managed to retain my mommy rights.

All of my email accounts and social media accounts were changed and after many months of fighting I finally got my email address password back and thankfully, was able to get a reset for this and a few other accounts.

That being said, I am going to be transplanting all my fics to A03, I've found a home there, and hopefully, now that shit has calmed down a little, I can get back to work doing something that brings me joy.

So, there. That's where OZ has been.


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